


Lamb in Wolf's Clothing

by jasna



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Canon-Typical Violence, Drabbles, Dragons, F/M, Fire Magic, Scenes of life, Sexy Times, Smut, Solavellan, Swearing, glimpses, solavellan hell, some smut?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-01-21 11:25:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 26,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12456720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasna/pseuds/jasna
Summary: She’s brave beyond reason. She doesn’t like spiders.‘I used to wake up with spiders in my bedroll.’ She explains once. Her smile is sheepish. ‘I didn’t appreciate it as a five-year-old, and I sure as hell don’t appreciate it now. I heard a thing that an average person eats five spiders a year in their sleep. Makes you shudder, doesn’t it?’Sometimes, the Herald says the strangest things.





	1. Herald

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm trying to achieve with this. A katharsis or whatever. English is not my native language and there are mistakes and sloppy phrases - when you spot them, please PLEASE let me know.

She’s inquisitive and curious. She’s kind and caring. She has a sense of humor, surprisingly dry for someone so cheerful. And she has the backbone of obsidian, morals of steel, and she always does what she thinks is best - and she’s right way too often for it to be comfortable. Solas suspects the Herald knows everyone in Haven by name, and yet she finds time almost every evening to see him and talk.

She’s a skilled mage and her magical instincts are astounding. Even when she lacks vocabulary for certain aspects, she shows incredible understanding. Solas grows to enjoy her company more and more, and those evenings she’s too busy with her other duties he finds himself missing her. She’s often seen laughing with her companions and habitants of Haven - and she’s as often seen buried in books and notes from various proceedings.

She’s brave beyond reason. She doesn’t like spiders.

‘I used to wake up with spiders in my bedroll.’ She explains once. Her smile is sheepish. ‘I didn’t appreciate it as a five-year-old, and I sure as hell don’t appreciate it now. I heard a thing that an average person eats five spiders a year in their sleep. Makes you shudder, doesn’t it?’

Sometimes, the Herald says the strangest things.

She likes nibbling on fruit while studying her books. More than once Solas encountered her on some wall or steps, curled up in a ball, wrapped in fur cloak, with a book on her lap and an apple in hand. She would take tiny little bites of the fruit and read like there is no tomorrow.

What astonishes Solas most of all is that the Herald actually _pays attention_. She listens with such intensity it’s slightly dangerous to talk to her, for one might say something better left unsaid. She assembles her sentences as if words were pearls in a necklace. She uses swearwords with ease and they are always a surprise. But when she’s forced to fight, when words are not enough, she’s a force to be reckoned with; a storm of fire in the battlefield, precise and powerful. She wields her fire as if it was a part of her - and then again, maybe it is.


	2. Accidentally

The first time Solas sees Kerei naked is by accident.

They drag through the Hinterlands. It seems endless effort, helping people so that they wouldn’t run away from them. The Herald grows more frustrated with every day. Solas has already managed to notice she cares too much; she can’t sleep at night knowing there is someone out there who needs help. He’s both amused and amazed by this little treat of the Herald. She’s no longer that scared little mouse she was the first time he saw her.

They camp one night on the shores of Lake Luthias. Solas sneaks out of the camp at one point, after Varrik decides it’s time for a round of Wicked Grace and the Herald enthusiastically agrees, much to Cassandra’s dismay. Solas excuses himself and wanders around the camp for some time, picking herbs, looking for any possible threats and generally enjoying being alone. It’s already completely dark when he stumbles upon a creek falling into the lake and stops dead in his tracks.

The Herald is standing in the middle of the creek, shamelessly and completely naked, and gazes up, into the sky. Water glistens on her skin in starlight and it looks like she’s covered in diamond powder. Solas watches her shoulders move in a deep sigh. His mind is blank, his hand clutches onto some bush. She’s beautiful, and there is natural grace in how she moves. When she moves to turn, Solas reflexively dives behind the bush. He listens to the water splashes and Kerei’s hums and, finally, the rustling of clothes. He chooses that moment to sneak out and circle the camp to return from the opposite side - so that no one gets any stupid ideas.

Like the ones he starts to have now.

That night he can’t get the image of the Herald’s nude body out of his head. The way the muscles on her back move when she brushes hair away from her face; the way she trudges through the water; the outline of her leg and hip; a glimpse of her breast. He feels like a teenager again, bumbling and blushing when in presence of his crush. The Herald is pretty, that much is true - with her big, childlike eyes, full lips and delicate nose. But he considered her something alike to a work of art - to be admired, but not much more.

Now, he’s not so sure he still thinks that.


	3. Dichotomy

Val Royeaux clearly dazzles the Herald at first. Solas is not surprised. This is a big city, always busy and always crowded; merchants call on, praising their wares, people yell and chat and mingle, guards look stern and intimidating and the public herald yells something unrecognizable. The Herald takes it all in with wide eyes and clenched jaw. She composes herself quickly, though, as Cassandra leads them warily towards the main plaza. News of templars being there isn’t comforting, and Solas can see a line, drawing between Herald’s brows.

But she conducts herself with certain savage dignity, looking the Grand Cleric in the eye as if they were equals. And when the woman is felled by a templar’s fist, the Herald is the first one to yell. Cassandra only manages to grab her elbow in the last second. When the Seeker in lead announces publicly lack of support for the Inquisition from the Chantry and takes his troops away in a swirl of coats and blades, Herald stands still. It’s the first time Solas notices one of her major tells, though. Her left hand, the Marked one, trembles, clenched into a fist, and she clutches her right hand over the elbow.

‘Herald?’ Solas puts his hand on her shoulder.

‘I’m fine.’ She says through gritted teeth. ‘I just need to punch something soon. Cassandra?’ she turns sharply, nearly knocking Solas off his feet with her staff. ‘Thoughts?’

‘This is very bizarre.’ Cassandra says. Worry draws her brows together as she watches after the templars. ‘Grand Seeker Lucius wouldn’t act like this. We must consult with our people in Haven.’

Herald heaves a sigh.

‘So, another lengthy trip, completely useless.’ She says. Her voice is sad. Cassandra puts her hand on Herald’s shoulder and tries to smile.

‘We can stay the night.’ The Seeker offers. ‘Look around. Maybe we could buy some new gear or materials. We deserve some rest.’

Herald nods. She doesn’t look convinced, but the mood lifts a little. Varric suggests a visit to Le Masque du Lon. Solas keeps his mouth shut, only glancing from time to time towards the Herald. She seems… preoccupied, thinking hard about something, biting her lower lip. She’s so deep in thought that when the arrow whistles and hits the cobblestones between her feet, she reacts with just a little start. Cassandra reacts more violently, nearly tacking the Herald to the ground.

‘Assassins?’ Varrick asks, whipping out his crossbow.

‘I don’t think so.’ Herald pushes Cassandra away and picks up the arrow. ‘There’s a note here.’

Solas forcefully stops a sigh. That _could_ be a quiet evening.

*

Two weeks later they are back in Haven and their little group gained Sera and madame Vivienne de Fer, Grand Enchanter to the court of Orlais. The two of them are practically opposites. Sera shouts her “normality” from the rooftops and shoves it in everyone’s face. She’s skilled with a bow and has a pranking streak. Vivienne is poised and regal, a seasoned player of the Game. She’s a mage, has an affinity for Ice spells and a great taste in fashion. Where Sera doesn’t mind her shirts dirty and face smudged, Vivienne is always carefully dressed, even despite the harsh conditions of Haven.

Surprisingly, the Herald has taken a liking towards the imperial court enchanter. She tolerates Sera, and Solas hasn’t seen the Herald being rude to the archer, but every time they are seen together, Kerei has an impatient line around her lips.

Meanwhile, the council can’t decide on the side to pick. Cullen and Cassandra say they should go to the templars. Leliana and Josephine lean more towards the mages. The Herald is stuck in between, outwardly calm and polite as ever. But Solas likes to think he knows her well enough by now to see anxiousness rising in her eyes. She’s easily distracted now, and sometimes trails off in the middle of a sentence. Quite often she doesn’t remember what she was trying to say before losing track of her thoughts.

One night, Solas is woken by wolves, howling in the distance. He feels uneasy somehow. It must be the way wind whistles in between buildings. Like ghosts, crying for mercy of some kind. For a second, he thinks there are footsteps just outside his hut. Wary, he sits up and listens. It’s not unusual for someone to be walking around Haven - guards, late guests of the tavern, his neighbor the apothecary sometimes leaves in the middle of the night and returns just before dawn…

But it’s none of those cases. There’s faint knocking on his door.

‘Solas?’ quiet, breathy voice says. He stops a sigh. The Herald. ‘Are you awake?’

‘Yes.’ He says, trying not to sound too grumpy. ‘Do come in.’

Door creaks and the Herald peeks in.

‘I’m sorry.’ She says, not really coming inside. ‘But I needed someone to talk to.’

‘Come in.’ he forces a smile. ‘You must be cold.’

She offers him a kind smile and slides inside. She has a weird combination of clothes on - an old, beaten up cloak lined with fur, her usual leggings of soft leather and armored boots, reaching all the way up to her knees. He’s never seen these boots on her and they look a bit too big for her feet. He realizes he’s practically naked and nearly falls over reaching for a shirt to put on. She doesn’t seem to have realized, she looks at him as if he was fully dressed. It’s a bit strange.

‘I couldn’t sleep.’ She says, sitting down on a nearby chair. ‘I have too many thoughts in my head. I need someone to vent.’

‘And you chose me?’ he can’t help a smile.

‘You’re a good listener.’ She shrugs. ‘Everyone else will either misunderstand or try to talk over me.’

He nods slowly. He’s not sure she’s right, but at this unholy hour he doesn’t feel like arguing. He sits down on his bed and looks at her expectantly.

‘Essentially, the problem is: templars or mages.’ She makes a motion as if weighing something in her hands. ‘People trained to combat magic versus people trained to combat _with_ magic. On the one hand, the people in power, and on the other hand people oppressed by said power. Influences or bad reputation. People who can potentially provide much help versus people who will need our help for sure. Guards versus prisoners. Basically it’s _them_ versus _us_ , because, well, I’m a mage. I don’t want to seem… prejudiced.’

‘Every decision will bring distress and will be met with negativity.’ Solas says slowly.

‘So you say I should, I don’t know, flip a coin and just… roll with the results?’

Solas sighs.

‘Personally, I’d go for the mages.’ He says, shrugging. ‘They may understand the Breach better and be more helpful with dealing with potential consequences. They can provide you with resources you will require to close the rift of that scale. Every little rift costs you some energy, and the Breach may as well…’ he stops, biting his tongue.

‘Kill me.’ She deadpans. ‘Go on.’

‘Mages can help you with that.’ He tries to talk over a sudden fear, creeping into his heart. ‘I’m not sure templars would be able to.’

The Herald takes a long, deep breath and releases it slowly. Solas watches her.

‘Ah, fuck it.’ She grumbles finally. She gets up so abruptly Solas nearly jumps up on the bed. ‘Pack your bags, we’re going to Redcliffe.’


	4. Timelines

She trembles.

She practically shakes. Not one part of her body is still. Armor nearly clinks on her. Her eyes are a blaze of green. Her face is tight, drawn like a bowstring ready to snap. Alexius crawls away from her, scared and defeated. She discards her staff, recklessly and carelessly, and moves to _kill_.

Solas grabs her by the wrist in the last second before she blows the magister’s head off.

‘Kerei!’ he hisses, intently. They have new visitors. She turns her head and stares at him. For a second, he fears she doesn’t recognize him and he will be on the receiving end of her Fire. But then, her eyes snap to focus, soften and lose their murderous glint.

‘Solas.’ She breathes. Her knees give up and he just manages to catch her before she falls. ‘Andraste, you’re fine.’

‘Yes, Kerei, I am fine, but please, focus.’ He shakes her gently. She grabs him with shaky fingers, her eyes glued to his face. There’s panic in her eyes. ‘Just a moment longer, and then we can leave.’

It takes her full ten seconds to collect herself. She clutches his shirt the entire time, keeping her head down and taking forcefully deep breaths. Then she straightens up and approaches king Alistair with her head held high, even if her hands still tremble a little. Her voice is once again pleasant and polite, despite the harshness of her words when it comes to discussing terms of allying with mages. She offers them a true alliance, not a service, and Solas frowns upon hearing that. She’s brave. And stubborn. She silences every opposing voice with calm certainty.

Solas counts the minutes left until she breaks down.

Something happened in that flash when the world stood still and time felt wrong. Something happened to her. That Tevinter mage - Dorian, was it? - keeps strangely close to Kerei and they talk in lowered voices. Her head leans towards the man’s shoulder in a strangely intimate way. They leave the Redcliffe Castle and head out towards the Crossroads. Kerei leads this strange procession of people, hastily gathered. Someone gave her back her staff and the big crystal at the top catches light in a myriad of rainbows. She’s a symbol of hope for those people, Solas realizes. He wonders - briefly - how much does this fact weigh on her.

She comes to talk to him soon after they stop for the night little ways away from the Crossroads. She’s changed out of her light armors into soft tunic and tight-fitting pants. She’s barefoot, something unusual for her while in the field. Her voice is steady when she asks if she can join him at the fire he set up a bit away from the main group. When he nods, she practically falls onto the grass right next to him.

Her warmth seeps through his clothes, comforting and pleasant. And worrying.

‘Time travel.’ She says; her eyes are fixed on the flames.

‘Yes?’ he prompts her when she remains silent for a moment.

‘Your thoughts on it?’

‘It’s…’ impossible, he wants to say. ‘An interesting idea.’ He says instead. She gives out a short laugh. He doesn’t like that sound. It’s laced with madness. ‘That Tevinter mage sounded convinced when he introduced this to us. Do you think…?’

‘I don’t _think_.’ Her voice only appears steady. It is panic, Solas realizes, raw and wild panic that’s underlying her words, panic of the purest kind, on the verge of breaking out and destroying everything in its wake. ‘I _know_. I saw what will happen if I fail. If _we_ fail. I saw the world corrupted and broken and turned so wrong and everyone was dead…’ she hides her face in her hands. Solas sits still, frigid. _World corrupted and broken and turned so wrong_ \- oh, if she only knew.

‘I saw them kill Cass. And Bull. And Leliana. And you…’ here, her voice breaks and she sobs. Without thinking, he puts his arm around her shoulders, gathers her close. His free hand snakes through her hair to cradle her head. Her arms shake as she cries, quietly but desperately.

‘I _have to_ stop him.’ She whispers through the sobs, words breaking apart, never really coming to an end, so that he must finish the sentence by himself.

‘You will.’ He says, trying to keep his voice steady. ‘We will stop him. Whoever he is. Whatever he wants. We will stop him.’

She dreams of red for the next month. He tries to safeguard her dreams, always from afar, never letting her feel his presence. After a month or so the dreams finally start to dissipate. And there are always new concerns. New problems to solve. New battles to fight, and she’s always there, on the frontlines, fiery and frightening if she ever needs to be such. Solas gets to watch her catch a Venatori mage in the Eastern Approach, deal with waves of darkspawn, free the Griffon Wing Keep and tear through an old ruin frozen in time. They spend three days in that ruin, and the newest addition to the team, one Dorian Pavus from Teviner - the one from Redcliffe Castle and all that time travel idea - nearly pisses himself over this little discovery.

He and Kerei seem to get close.

Solas isn’t jealous.

No, not at all.


	5. Skates

‘We are ready.’ The Herald says. ‘As ready as we’ll ever be. We will attempt to close the Breach tomorrow.’

She looks at the people gathered around the Chantry. There are mages here, soldiers, commoners and templars; healers and merchants; an innkeeper, an apothecary, a researcher. Her team remains close to the door, exchanging glances. On the backdrop of the great door, in the face of this crowd, the Herald seems tiny, fragile, insufficient. She is like a scared child, facing scolding from her elders for some mischief. But the Herald is no child. She throws back her head and looks at the Inquisition as if she owns it. There’s a smile crossing her face.

‘With a bit of luck, tomorrow at this hour everything will be well again.’ She says. ‘Get a good night’s rest. You may need it. And may Andraste bless us all.’

The fact that she’s an andrastian still surprises Solas every time it comes up. He knows she’s not entirely convinced she was chosen by the gods, but she _believes_ in them. It’s not a fanatic’s belief, more like calm certainty there is someone out there to help and oversee. It must be nice, he thinks sometimes. It must be nice to have that belief. He somewhat fears for her when she learns she’s wrong.

He has difficulties reaching the Fade this night. Nervousness gnaws at him, making his mind run in circles. There are countless outcomes and possibilities for all this to unfold, and most of them are unpleasant. Solas wants to believe the Herald will succeed - he really _wants to believe_ \- but he finds it hard to actually achieve. She’s proven herself countless times by now, but this is different. This may kill her, and all that work they’ve done up until now will be for naught.

He knows she’s the needle point that balances everyone. She’s the one to be able to talk dragon down from eating them all, should she will it. She’s the unknown factor everyone fears and respects, and she’s proven herself worthy of that respect ten times over. If the Breach kills her…

Solas throws away the covers and gets up. This is pointless. He dresses quickly and grabs his staff. May as well do something useful with this night. He walks all the way down to the lake. Maybe if he wears himself down a little, sleep will come easier.

She’s there.

Of course she is.

Solas heaves a sigh and approaches the Herald. Her sleep pattern doesn’t fail to amaze him. She stays up late, wakes up early and survives the day on pure adrenaline rush while in the field. While in Haven, she sleeps in late and then works without stopping through most of the day. Finding her here, on the eve of a feat that can kill her as far as they know, isn’t something that should surprise him. It follows the pattern quite well.

She has a pair of skates attached to her boots and slides slowly on the frozen lake, keeping close to the banks. She notices him almost immediately and skates closer. She’s a bit clumsy in her movements, with arms flailing and legs wobbling, and she’s utterly adorable.

‘Can’t sleep?’ she asks and falls on her butt. Solas swallows back a laugh and almost chokes on it.

‘Apparently, I’m not the only one. Do you need a hand, Herald?’

‘No, I’ve got it.’

She doesn’t. She falls over at least twice and soon Solas is choking on his laughter, fighting to keep his face straight and failing miserably. Finally, the Herald scrambles to the snowy bank of the lake and sits down on a log with exasperated grunt.

‘Cassandra told me it’d be fun.’ She says grumpily. ‘Get skates from Minaeve, she said, it will be fun, she said. Fall on your ass until it bruises! That she didn’t mention.’ She unties the blades from the soles of her boots and scowls at them. ‘Nasty bastards.’

Solas takes a seat next to her. She sighs deeply, wrapping her knees with her arms. He waits for her to say something, as he’s sure she has something in mind.

‘It’s a good night to be my last.’ She says suddenly and there it is, the tiny layer of romanticism and humor covering a deep well of fear. ‘I never skated before.’

‘Obviously.’ He says before his brain catches up to his mouth. She laughs softly and bumps his shoulder with hers.

‘Rude.’

They sit in silence for a long moment.

‘Tell me about the stars.’ She says suddenly. ‘I bet there are some legends that fit for the occasion. But… promise me one thing?’

‘Just one?’

‘Have a drink on me if I die?’

He looks at her. She stares at him. Her face is pale in the moonlight, dark lines of the _vallaslin_ make her look… unreal. Her eyes are big and dark in that pale face. Her lips are pressed into a thin line… but he notices a twitch, a tremble, something she skilfully swallows down (even if she chokes on it).

‘You will not die, Kerei.’ He tries to make his voice as assuring as he possibly can. ‘We’ll all make sure of it.’

She smiles. It’s not her best smile, but close. Then, she looks up to the sky again. It’s dark and tinged with green, peppered with bright stars and constellations. She asks him again to tell her some legend and he obliges. But he doesn’t look at the stars as he tells her about the Draconis. He keeps looking at her.


	6. Tabledancing

The tavern is packed tight with people. Everyone is drinking, laughing, talking and singing. The noise is nearly unbearable, the heat even more so. Yet Solas remains, pressed into a corner, clutching a mug in both hands. This is somehow comforting. After weeks and weeks of hard work and worrying it’s nice to kick back, relax and watch others laugh.

In that sea of heads, he can’t spot the Herald. That is, until she climbs onto a table and raises her own mug. It drips foam and looks way too big for her delicate hands. Still, the Herald wields it with the same certainty as she wields her staff.

‘To you all, Inquisition!’ she yells, her voice loud and clear, easily carrying over music. ‘This is your doing!’

The tavern erupts with cheers, mugs clink against each other. The Herald downs her beer in one go. Solas is impressed. She raises her hands and laughs - carefree, happy, relieved. Solas wonders if she will return home now, back to her clan, back to her duties as a First. Somehow, he feels sad for this thought. He shakes it off, though, because the Herald yells something towards the musicians, squeezed behind the bar, and they answer with a cheery tune. She throws the mug somewhere into the crowd - Sera jumps up and grabs it - and the Herald begins to dance.

It’s a carefree, happy dance. Her heels dig into the wood of the table so forcefully that it shakes; she jumps and turns and laughs; fiery hair dance around her face and shoulders, a bead of sweat travels down her temple; her eyes are a blaze of green. Solas waits for the moment she trips and falls, all laugh and giggles, but the moment doesn’t happen.

Instead, a horn bellows through the night. Everyone stills. The Herald freezes in place; her breath is heavy, her eyes are open wide, but there’s a familiar focus in her gaze. She’s like a cat prepared to pounce on its prey. Cassandra pushes through the crowd.

‘Herald!’ she says. Her voice rings way too loud in the sudden silence. The horn bellows again. ‘There are forces approaching Haven.’

‘Shit.’ Herald says and jumps off the table. Someone hands her the staff and the crowd parts. Solas decides it’s time to move. He leaves his mug on the nearest table and follows the Herald out of the tavern. The mountain slopes are covered with thousands of moving lights. They are, essentially, under attack.

‘Seriously?’ The Herald says, exasperated. One of the Bull’s Chargers brings her armored gauntlets and boots and she sits down to put it all on. ‘I mean… seriously? Was it so much to ask, one night out? Sweet Andraste, I need to lower my standards.’

And then, all hell breaks loose.


	7. Cold

The night stretches into one long period of darkness and cold. Everyone is silent. While trekking through the secret passage, when they pass through the forest, after they find a decent place to set up a makeshift camp. There are injured and there are dead. Resources are scarce, mostly what the habitants of Haven managed to grab on the run.

The Herald is not with them.

Some say she’s dead, that she laid her life to protect them. Some say she’s still fighting the demon so that he won’t find them. Cassandra maintains the Herald’s alive. Her little ragtag group of companions - Varric, Sera, Dorian and Vivienne, Blackwall and Iron Bull - they argue and shout and make assumptions and hope. The little weird spirit boy - Cole - says the strangest things ( _it’s cold under the moonlight but it burns in her bones why are the snows singing?_ ) and that somehow gives Solas a remnant of hope. He sets out towards Haven, alone and silent, and searches for a little flicker of life in the snows.

He finds one only moments before giving up. The wolves howl and he _knows_ they sense her. He nearly runs back to camp and forces Cullen and Cassandra to gather some men and set out to meet the Herald - Kerei. They find her frozen half to death little ways from their makeshift camp. Cullen runs to the tiny dark form on the white plain, scoops the Herald’s limp body in his arms and yells for some blankets. Solas can feel her life flickering in Cullen’s embrace.

When Mother Giselle puts her in a tent, they shoo everyone away. Solas haunts the edges of the camp, trying to settle down the sick feeling in his stomach. He can hear whispers. She survived - but will she live? Uncertainty is not something they need right now. Right now, they need hope. They need a sign their quest is not entirely doomed. When their Herald lies on the cot, pale and struggling for life, cold and wheezing with labored breaths, everyone’s scared.

The tension explodes in sudden arguments over trivialities all over the camp. Solas forces himself to wait. All of this shouldn’t have happened. But it did, and now all he can do is to wait for the Herald to wake up.

And when she does wake the next evening, Solas can feel it from the other side of the camp. It is like a sudden fire starts in Mother Giselle’s tent. He relaxes at that and releases a long sigh. It takes about an hour for Kerei to finally emerge from the tent. She’s still pale and unwell, her fiery hair frame her face and bring out the tiredness in her eyes. She looks at the camp, outwardly calm, but Solas suspects this calmness is brittle.

And then, a voice - surprisingly strong, through raspy - comes from the tent. Mother Giselle appears behind Herald’s back; the woman’s eyes are bright and intent on Kerei’s face. Soon, other voices rise from all over the camp; everyone, no matter the race, walks over to the Herald; some kneel, some bow their heads, but everyone sings. Solas listens. There’s a feeling in his heart, a half-shaped thought - _this is how gods are made_ \- flows through his mind and disappears before he can catch it.

For a split second, the Herald looks scared and overwhelmed. But she composes herself quickly and, with _very_ little help from Mother Giselle, walks through the crowd toward her advisors. They talk for a long moment, sometimes breaking into shouts. Kerei silences them immediately every single time. At some point, Solas loses his patience. He approaches them in long strides and hovers for a second over Herald’s shoulder.

‘Kerei?’ he says softly. ‘A word?’

‘Sure.’ She says. Her voice is fragile and she unashamedly slides her hand under his arm as they walk. Her stride is careful and short and he has to adapt before she falls over. They reach a quieter spot on the hill, with a blown-out torch stuck in the snow. Solas lights it with a short spell and deliberately ignores Herald’s sigh of relief. She lets go of him and reaches for the light. Solas observes as she _peels off_ a bit of the flame and cups it with her fingers.

‘What can you tell me about what happened in Haven?’

She sighs and tells him what she remembers. He nearly drinks her words, fear and anger swirling in his throat. This shouldn’t have happened. All of this wasn’t meant to be. The orb, stolen and misused, the Anchor, attached to the hand of another… And he wasn’t meant to start to _feel_ things towards those people. Sympathy. Attachment. Sentiment. That is wrong, and yet it’s there.

‘I can’t worry about that now.’ Kerei sighs and crushes the little flame in her palm. ‘Right now, we need to find a place. A safe place for all those people, so that I can worry again.’ She brushes her hair with both her hands and smiles at Solas sadly. ‘You traveled a lot, both here and the Fade. Do you know of a keep or something that we could take and no one would throw us out in the morning?’

Solas can’t help an idiotic smile from spilling all over his face.

‘Well, since you asked…’


	8. Faith

_I have seen the throne of gods… and it was empty._

Kerei opens her eyes to the darkness of her room. With a quick, semi-conscious gesture she wipes her cheeks, damp from tears. Heaving a sigh, the Inquisitor sits up and looks around. The room is completely empty. Heavy curtains block out the starlight, the fireplace is long dark and cold. There’s a chill in the air, a chill of stone walls that have long forgotten harboring life.

It’s lonely all the way up here.

Kerei shivers.

Quickly, she throws away the cover and, barefoot, walks over to the fireplace. She puts a few small logs inside and casts a quick spell. Fire obediently springs back to life. She kneels in front of the fireplace and stares at the flames.

 _And it was empty_.

She shakes her head.

She was raised with the Dalish pantheon. She knew their rites and core beliefs, she followed them - more or less - for the most of her life. But when she heard of the human faith in the Maker, it made more sense to her, somehow. She was fifteen. The human faith spoke to her in a way Dalish gods didn’t. She wasn’t a very _firm_ believer, not until all that Breach debacle, visiting the Fade personally, hearing stories and hushed whispers naming her the Herald of Andraste…

She wanted so desperately to _know_ something for sure, and the whole situation seemed to be tailored to convince her that there is a benevolent God, watching over them, sending his aid in the times of need. A God that chose her as His symbol, a God that wanted her to prove something to Him.

And then, Corypheus told her there is no God.

No Maker. No Blessed Andraste. No Dalish gods.

Was he lying? Was he simply too blind to see? Or was he telling a horrid truth? Were they alone in life?

Kerei hides her face in the hands, choking back a sob. She can’t bear the sudden loneliness that filled her ever since Haven. She’s cold all the time, even when she wraps herself in furs. She needs work. She throws herself at every task that comes to mind, the harder the better. But it rarely works. And she finds herself awake in the middle of the night - again - sobbing quietly in the soft light of her fireplace.

Josephine meant well by giving her this room. But Kerei finds it hard to appreciate the gesture.

She gets up. She throws open every curtain on every window. Then, she kneels by the side of her bed and gets to work. When the dawn comes, she’s dozing off on the floor, sweat glistens on her forehead, and the side of her bed has one more Fire rune burned in. Josephine finds her like this and, instead of waking the Inquisitor up, she puts a blanket over her body.


	9. Kiss

Her lips are as soft as he’d imagined them. There’s no hesitation in her and she is no prey to be chased after. When he doesn’t respond at first - too surprised to act, really, nothing else - she backs out immediately, hurt merely a blink on her face. His body reacts for him and he reaches out, grabs her and pulls her close to another kiss; without thinking, without any reason or sense. When he comes to - at least a little - and pulls back, the look on her face is everything for a moment. It is awe, and relief, and gentle bliss, self-certainty that comes from making a right decision and now he _chooses_ to kiss her again. He feels her hands, snaking up his arms and resting on his nape. The touch flies down his spine in a shiver.

‘We shouldn’t.’ he whispers in her mouth.

‘You think me stupid?’ she whispers back. ‘Haven’s destroyed, so this isn’t real. Give me one good reason we shouldn’t.’ she kisses him again, long and slow and languid, and her lips are perfection.

‘You’re the Inquisitor.’

‘And that means nobody can tell me what to do. They can only _advise_.’

He brushes a thumb over her lower lip, relishing in the softness of it. She’s so stubborn, and he loves it.

‘Would you listen to my advice, then?’

‘Mmmmnot right now.’ Her lashes flutter as a smile crosses her lips. The way her hips are pressed against his puts some really creative thoughts into his head. ‘Right now I’m feeling very rebellious. Also, I haven’t been kissed in a while. I missed this.’

He gives up. She’s here, and she’s willing, and she wants him to kiss her. And so he does, telling himself it’s not that big of a deal. Just some distraction, right? Everyone has their needs. So he indulges himself - and her - for a moment. They kiss like there’s no tomorrow, and they let their hands explore - somehow timidly, to be honest. After a moment Kerei is gasping and tugging at his collar. The pure need on her face shakes him awake from the haze.

‘We should… probably discuss this a bit later.’ He pants, resting his forehead against hers. ‘Maybe in the _waking_ world.’

‘Yeah.’ She half-laughs, half-sighs. She presses a last, quick kiss to his lips and _smiles_. He wakes up in his own bed with that smile printed on the inside of his eyelids. He can still feel her fingers touching the base of his neck, her breasts pressed against his chest, her breath on his cheek and her soft, pliant lips on his mouth. He lies in the darkness and reaches out upwards, toward where her room is. For a second, it seems he can taste her again, clear as day. Then, a sound of door opening and shutting close somewhere in the distance carries down the stairwell.

The day has started. Solas releases a sigh and gets up.


	10. Choice

Kerei catches herself staring at the polished plate of bronze she’s been given for a mirror. She can still feel the lingering traces of Solas’s fingers all over her face, shoulders and sides, and she thinks her lips should be swollen. But there are no outward signs of what happened in the Fade. She combs her hair slowly, still staring at her reflection.

She feels oddly at ease. She takes this moment to search her feelings.

This is a downward spiral and she knows it. It’s not serious now, but it will get serious soon if she pushes a little more. It would be easy to step back now, to just let it slide and dissipate into a pleasant memory… but the mere thought makes Kerei’s heart squeeze.

Solas is the only other elf she can really talk to. Sera’s fun, but her scared stubbornness to _be ignorant_ about magic and Fade and elven history and fate and gods is something Kerei has no patience for. Solas listens and offers advice to whatever problems she has. Besides him, there’s no one. Cassandra is… well, Cassandra. Cullen blushes and trips over his words every time Kerei talks to him - unless they talk military and tactics. Leliana’s simply scary and Kerei doesn’t feel comfortable discussing her doubts with the spymaster. Varric talks sweet and knows exactly what to say, but Kerei learned a long time ago not to trust this kind of good-talkers. She’s gotten closer to Dorian after their little trip to Redcliff, but this is something she’d feel… uncomfortable discussing with her new friend.

And she doesn’t know anyone else well enough to just… trust them with her thoughts.

So, by elimination, Solas is the only one…

 _If I wanted casual sex, I’d probably turn to Iron Bull_ , Kerei muses as she changes into something she can show the world. _Seeing that I didn’t, probably says something about me._

She sighs.

_Do I want serious, though? Another thing to invest myself in, to think about, to worry and care for?_

Her eyes are big and dim in the bronze mirror, but the line around her lips is hard.

‘Yes.’ Kerei says to her reflection. ‘And I want it with him.’

Having made that decision, she gets up and goes to look for something to eat. There’s so much to do. Saving the world can wait - now, there are walls to repair and windows to install. There are rooms full of debris that need clearing out. There are routes to clear - the path they took is not suitable for nobles, and nobles will definitely come at some point. Kerei wants to join in that effort. She wants to put herself out there. She wants to work just like everyone else. She may be a symbol - or on the path to becoming one - and she wants it to be good.


	11. Practice

Kerei trains hard - in the mornings in Skyhold, when the keep is still cold and everyone’s asleep. She practices her spells with absolute focus; she goes through her routines fast and agile, yet always paying attention to details. In those moments she spends by herself, she can let go of the duty. She can forget she’s carrying the weight of the world’s fate on her shoulders. She’s not alone in this task, but every companion she has looks up to her for guidance and decisions.

One. Two. Strike. Three. Four. Sidestep. Strike.

One morning, Solas shows up in the courtyard. She pretends to not notice him but she can tell his eyes follow her intently. And in a few minutes, she actually forgets he’s there.

‘You’ve grown quite adept in your magic.’ He says finally, startling her a little. Kerei nearly drops her staff, but manages to regain composure and laugh.

‘Yeah.’ She looks at the staff in her hand. It’s simple and effective. She’s used it as a magic conduit and heavy blunt object. She’s used it as a walking stick and shepherd’s staff. ‘With all the practice I get on the road, I’m bound to become an expert in making stuff explode.’ She offers him a smile and receives one in return.

The keep stirs slowly and awakens one inhabitant at a time. Head chambermaid opens a window in the tower and puts out the pillows to air. Cullen’s voice carries over the battlements, barking orders and demanding information. There’s rustling somewhere high on the scaffolding, a curse flows down along with a loud crash. A tired surgeon shows up, slips behind Kerei’s back towards the herbs garden, where a herbologist awaits her, basket in hand, ready to begin the day. A crow leaves the tower, signaling Leliana’s presence at her desk. Solas stalks closer. Kerei watches him.

‘I think you earned yourself a breakfast.’ He says. ‘Come join me? My treat.’

She pretends to consider the offer before nodding. They have a… fragile balance, now. There were some evenings spent on long conversation and friendly arguing. Glances were exchanged.

They head to the Herald’s Rest. The business is booming, now, that the Inquisitor has made a name for herself all over Thedas. Kerei settles for fruit - Solas rarely sees her eating anything else in the morning. They take a table in the far corner, where nobody would disturb them. Kerei eats with a small, blissful smile on her face.

It’s a quiet moment. It seems like for now she’s not needed anywhere and she’s allowed to just _relax_. They talk about meaningless things; some magic, some strategies, some gossip. Between words, Solas notices something lingers on the Inquisitor’s mind.

‘Walk me back?’ she suggests when they are finished. ‘Josie wants me to see her in an hour or so, and I need a bath.’

‘Of course.’ He ignores the image that pops into his head. They walk back to the castle and get into an argument over rune mechanic on the steep stairwell leading up to the Inquisitor’s rooms. Kerei even draws the rune in question on a step with her staff. Solas is pretty sure their heated conversation carries both upwards and downwards and everyone in Skyhold involuntarily becomes an expert on fire runes.

‘Oh for- I’ve been using these runes since I was, like, _five_.’ Kerei throws her hands in the air. ‘But there is no talking you over, is it?’

‘Not really, no.’ he nearly laughs. She does laugh, though, unashamed and free.

‘So I will just show you.’ She gestures for him to follow and practically jumps up the rest of the stairs.

It’s his first time in her room. It’s big and quite empty, to be frank, with bed being the biggest thing in there. She has a small clothes wardrobe by the bed and a desk in the corner. The fireplace is dark and empty, but it looks like she uses it regularly. There’s a shelf stacked with books as well and Solas find himself wandering over there.

‘Look.’ Kerei throws back the covers, adorning her bed. ‘Look here.’

Solas sighs and walks over to her. She points to a line of delicately carved - no, not carved, _burned in -_ runes, stretching all over the side of the bed. Solas leans over to get a closer look.

‘This is impressive, Kerei.’ He says, not bothering to keep admiration out of his voice. ‘How much time did you spend here, doing that?’

‘Oh, you know.’ She lets the cover fall back. Her voice is cheerfully indifferent, if that’s possible. ‘I had some rough nights, so I burned the spells in. They keep me warm. Ever since Haven, I can’t get warm enough at night.’

She doesn’t meet his eyes. He lets it go, for now. The thought - _I could join you_ \- flashes in his head. He banishes it forcefully.

‘That’s some very precise Fire magic.’ He says in a voice much lighter than he feels. She shrugs.

‘Good practice. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take that bath.’

He hastily apologizes and leaves before her amused “why are you apologizing?’ rings out in the room.


	12. Help

His hand twitches, the mug clinks against the table, nearly toppling over and spilling its contents all over papers. She kneels at his side and her hands cover his. Somehow, that stills the twitchiness; her fingers are warm and gentle. Her eyes are big and serious in her face. She tries to smile, but it comes off as forced and not really convincing.

‘We will find your friend.’ She says. Her voice is quiet and gentle. Solas appreciates the fact that it’s not her “All Will Be Well, So Says the Inquisitor” voice. ‘Tell me everything you can. I will arrange it.’

‘I do not wish to put a strain on our resources…’ he says, though it takes some serious effort on his part. He’s desperate for help. But not enough to put himself in her debt. ‘Or to take advantage of your position for me.’

‘Shut up and accept the offer when it’s willingly made.’ She says softly and gets up. ‘Come on, let’s look at the map in the war room.’

He obediently follows her. He’s still a bit confused. The call for help came unexpectedly, of course, and with such force he felt pushed out of his mind, rocked around a little and pushed back in. Inquisitor’s composure is very welcome, and only at the door to the war room Solas realizes she led him here by his hand. Luckily, she needs both her hands to open the door and she releases his wrist. Her fingers leave hot trails on his skin, but he’s more concerned about the map.

The Inquisitor lights the candles and sets a candelabra on the side of the table. Solas leans over. He tries to recall the feeling and ignore the sickness of it, creeping up his stomach. Kerei watches him. She doesn’t say anything, and her silence is comforting.

‘Here.’ Solas points to the Exalted Plains. ‘Somewhere… there.’

‘It’s not that far.’ Kerei says. There’s consideration in her voice. ‘We’ll take Bull in case there’s trouble, and Dorian. I think another mage could be useful in the spirit-related matter. I’ll go tell Dorian, you go tell Bull.’

‘Now?’ Solas feels as if she skipped ahead in conversation and didn’t bring him up to speed.

‘Yes, now.’ She’s already practically out the door. ‘If we want to help your friend in any capacity, we need to get there as soon as possible. It’s not an impossible distance, but it’s still considerable. The sooner we leave the better. And as Dorian is less likely to electrocute me at this unholy hour, you go wake Bull.’

Solas finds himself obeying her without further comment. He finds Bull in the Herald’s Rest, dozing off on a table. The Qunari wakes practically immediately upon touching his shoulder and for a second Solas can see himself split in two, clear as day. Bull has some admirable control over reflexes, though, and it takes about two minutes to explain the situation.

Kerei has less luck with Dorian. When Solas and Bull reach the entrance hall, angry whispers carry from the throne room. It’s weird watching the Inquisitor and the Tevinter mage argue. They both gesticulate elaborately, but their feet are frozen in place. Their voices can only be described as hushed yelling. Kerei’s already dressed in her travel gear, but Dorian doesn’t have his armor on.

‘You will do as I say or so help me every single god anyone has ever believed in, _I will be very, very cross_.’ Kerei hisses. Her nose is mere inches from Dorian’s. ‘And I will _tell everyone_.’

‘You wouldn’t!’ Dorian gasps audibly.

‘Try me.’

‘Remind me again, why do I love you?’

‘Because you know I’d do the exact same thing for you.’

‘True.’ Dorian sighs grimly. ‘But I get to bitch about it.’

‘Fine.’ Kerei turns to Solas and Bull, standing in the doorway. They know better than to interrupt, but it seems the scene is over. ‘We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready. So go and get your regular field gear, and I’ll go notify the stables and Cullen. Make sure one of you brings me something sweet for that, yes? ‘Cause I’m sure there will be a lecture…’


	13. Faded

They hurry as much as is only possible. Once again the Inquisitor proves she can push herself - and others - beyond recognizable boundaries of mind and body. They reach the Exalted Plains in record time, and Solas takes the lead. When they pass by a Dalish clan, Kerei insists they try to make friends with the elves, maybe get some supplies and a bit of rest. He reluctantly obeys. And, as it turns out, she’s right again. The Dalish tell them about mages and bandits, they reluctantly share some food and allow them a night’s sleep amongst their aravels. As Solas falls asleep, he can hear Kerei talk to the clan’s Keeper. In the morning they are given some dried meat and the Inquisitor has a tight lipped smile on her face.

From then on, it doesn’t take long.

Anger nearly consumes him whole and only Kerei’s tight hand on his wrist ( _she digs nails into his skin so hard she almost draws blood_ ) stops him from exploding right into the mage’s face. They wanted protection! And they summoned a spirit to do it for them! His mind still works, despite the all-consuming rage, covering his eyes with a red veil. And the Inquisitor agrees to what he suggests, she immediately agrees, without question, without doubt. Dorian says something Solas can’t hear and she silences the mage with but a gesture. She’s quick and skilled with breaking the bindings, and soon Solas kneels in front of his friend, biting back tears.

The Inquisitor’s there, right next to him. He can feel her warm, gentle hand on his shoulder. She smells of magic and her breath is heavy, but her hand is reassuring. When his friend is gone, he draws a breath ( _it’s hot in his throat_ ) and looks at her.

‘The mages.’ he says. She looks at him. Her eyes are dark and grim. Then, she nods sharply. Surprise bites through the anger - he kind of expected her to be against. But she’s already stepping away, towards Bull and Dorian, and shepherds them away from him, from the group of mages, huddled together a few steps back.

He’s tired. He’s so, so tired. He joins his companions and tries hard to avoid their eyes.

‘Are you allright?’ Kerei asks. Her tone is gentle and light.

‘I will be.’ He manages to say. ‘But I would like to be alone for some time.’

She comes closer and puts both her hands on his shoulders.

‘Of course, Solas.’ She says. Her eyes search his face. ‘We will journey on ahead. Be careful. We will see you back in Skyhold, yes?’

‘Yes.’ He gently takes her hands off his shoulders, hesitates and kisses her fingers. ‘Thank you.’

She nods. She silences Dorian again, this time with a sharp hiss as the mage tries to say something. Solas chokes back whatever it is that tries to claw its way out of his throat, turns and leaves. He can feel their eyes on his back, and then he can’t feel anything at all.


	14. Pause

Kerei’s worried.

She hides it well, but Dorian knows. They left Solas on the Exalted Plains and went back to Skyhold as quick as they were able. He’s tired - two weeks spent mostly on horseback aren’t kind on his spine, for fuck’s sake - and he shows it as much as he can without pissing Bull off. They return to Skyhold exhausted and covered in mud. The first thing Dorian does is go take a bath.

The first thing Kerei does is go to the war room and summon her council. She’s probably barely keeping straight and Dorian knows for sure - oh for so much sure - she smells really bad, but she still chooses to dive back in to work instead of relaxing for, like, five minutes.

He meets Vivienne in Josephine’s office. The Enchantress looks over some official looking documents, her face carefully wiped of emotion. When she sees him she lowers the papers back onto the desk and smiles a trained smile.

‘Dorian, dear.’ She greets him. ‘How was your journey?’

‘Tiresome.’ He answers shortly. He can barely feel his ass and calves. But at least he doesn’t smell of horse any longer, which is a big improvement. ‘Are they done yet?’

‘Not by a long shot, from what I’ve gathered.’ Vivienne sighs elegantly. ‘Our Inquisitor is a workaholic. Even Leliana takes breaks from time to time. Kerei will work herself to death, poor thing.’

Dorian swallows back some mean comment and just nods.

‘Make sure she eats something, will you?’ Vivienne says, waits for him to agree and leaves. The smell of her perfume lingers in the air for some time. Dorian shuffles through paperwork littering Josephine’s desk. There are writs, letters, banking and merchant agreements and papers, some lists, some drafts. Most of them is addressed directly to Kerei. Dorian knows for a fact she doesn’t read them all. Josephine passes her only the most important or baffling ones, dealing with the rest by herself. Kerei just signs those. There’s still so many…

Dorian catches himself staring at one of the letters. How does she manage all that? Decisions, rebuilding Skyhold, journeying to the various places of the world for the sake of her friends, training, learning orlesian manners, developing her magic, studying military tactics… and in the meantime, she still finds time to come to him for a chat, to pester him with questions and teasing. She still finds time to visit Solas and watch him paint. She still finds time to join Bull and his Chargers for a drink. She still finds time to visit Vivienne in her alcove, to read Varric’s writing with Cassandra - and then give the dwarf a thought-out feedback - to spend time with Cole, mostly feeding birds. How? There’s still only so many hours in a day, and how Kerei doesn’t just faint at the end of the day is way beyond Dorian’s understanding.

She’s a miracle. A girl too good, to pure for this world.


	15. Return

Kerei is in the middle of a war council when a scrawny boy appears, shyly slithering into the room. Nobody pays him any attention, but the Inquisitor still notices. The boy clutches a stack of papers to his chest and shifts nervously on his feet. When Josephine and Cullen lean over a report, Kerei catches that moment and turns to the boy.

‘Is there something you need?’ she asks gently. It’s Timony, one of the stable boys. He nods vigorously.

‘Master Solas has returned.’ He says, keeping his voice low. ‘Master Dennet sent me to tell you.’

‘Thank you, Timony.’ Kerei tries to stomp back the feeling that rises in her chest. It’s something between happiness and worry. She looks over to her councilors; Leliana waits patiently, sifting through her own stack of papers, for Josephine and Cullen to be done with banter.

‘Go.’ The spymaster says, not looking away from her papers. ‘We will wait for you.’

‘Thank you.’ Kerei manages to say before she nearly runs out the door. Timony accompanies her all the way to the stables. He doesn’t say a word, for which the Inquisitor is grateful. They find Solas taking care of his horse. Kerei barely notices as Timony runs off. She’s way too focused on Solas. She notices.

His hands are shaking slightly. His face is carefully wiped of all emotion. His clothes are dirty and torn, and he moves with certain stiff fragility Kerei knows all too well. The horse is dirty, covered in mud all the way up to its stomach. There’s a smear of blood on the saddle. Solas has been injured.

‘Solas.’ She says, trying to make her voice steady. ‘You’re back.’

‘Yes.’ He says. He doesn’t look at her. ‘I wasn’t sure, but… yes. I guess I am.’

‘I’m glad.’ She approaches slowly. ‘Do you need anything? Besides a warm bath and rest, of course.’

Now he spares her a glance.

‘You’re way too kind, Inquisitor.’ His voice bears notes of exhaustion. ‘If you could only find some time for me this evening…’

‘Certainly.’ _Sweetheart_ , she swallows that word down. ‘I will join you after dinner, if that’s fine with you.’

‘I shall wait for you then.’ He bows his head slightly. ‘And thank you.’

‘You’re very welcome.’

When she reaches the citadel that evening, tired and with a pounding head, he waits for her on his sofa. There’s a book on his lap, open but otherwise untouched. His head hangs low and it appears he’s asleep. Kerei sighs. She closes the door gently, so that they barely click, and approaches him slowly. There’s a blanket, neatly folded on the sofa right next to him. Barely breathing, Kerei takes the book, sets it aside and moves to cover him with the blanket.

His eyes snap open and he sits upright. A tiny blush rises on his cheeks and Kerei nearly chokes on a giggle she swallows down.

‘My apologies, Inquisitor.’ Solas says.

‘You were tired.’ Kerei smiles, putting the blanket away. ‘Maybe you should just go to bed.’

He shakes his head. He moves around her to get the book, looks it over and closes it with a snap. Kerei watches him, her face carefully arranged in a soft smile. She waits. There’s something stirring within him; she can see it in the way he moves, with a stiff dignity, shoulder and neck set tight. He’s tired, of course, but also ashamed of something.

‘I’m here for you.’ She offers gently. ‘If you need me to listen… or just, you know, sit there. Whatever you need, just tell me.’

His hand trembles a little when she touches him.

‘I will be fine.’ He says. Kerei thinks it’s not quite his voice. There’s a note to it she doesn’t recognize. A note that doesn’t suit him. ‘I would deeply appreciate your company this evening, though. I’ve had enough solitude in the last couple of days.’

Kerei nods. She hesitates for a split second and then hugs him, bringing him in close. He stiffens even more in her arms… but then his muscles relax. He leans into her, rests his head on her shoulder, and releases the tension in one deep, long, shaky breath.

‘I’m here for you.’ She says it again, and she will repeat those words as many times as he needs to hear them.

 _I’m here for you_ , Kerei thinks and this is the moment, she realizes. This is the moment when she falls further than ever before.


	16. Dignitary

There’s some Chantry dignitary visiting. Kerei doesn’t keep him standing in the throne room, but invites him to Josephine’s office. Dorian finds himself wandering over there - if anything, he will add to the numbers of Kerei’s entourage.

The dignitary is a stuck up prick. Dorian assesses as much within first five minutes of conversation comprised mostly of thinly veiled threats. Kerei’s smile tenses on her face with every passing second and soon even Josephine’s voice carries a certain steely needle. The dignitary seems oblivious. He keeps insisting for Kerei to step down from her role as the Inquisitor - basing his reasoning on her race, her upbringing, her faith - and he becomes more and more insistent in it.

Finally, Kerei’s patience runs its course. She raises her hand. The dignitary shuts up immediately. There must be something in Kerei’s eyes - Dorian can’t see, as he keeps himself to the back of the room - something vicious enough to shut the man up.

‘You call yourself a man of conviction.’ She says. Her voice is soft and gentle. ‘I, myself, am a woman of doubt. Doesn’t Maker reward those who doubt, yet remain by His words?’

‘Who are you to…’

‘If you really want to give this Inquisition a martyr, do go on.’ Kerei rests her chin on her fists. The dignitary chokes on his own words and stares at her for a moment. Dorian has a clear view of his face. He was probably half-expecting a discussion based on dogma and understanding of the Chantry’s teachings. Instead, Kerei took it and twisted it into _political_.

‘I-I was merely…’ the dignitary stumbles and trips over his sentences. ‘Worried f-for the reputation… the entire Chantry is-is concerned…’

‘The Chantry can only benefit from our efforts.’ Josephine chimes in. ‘We bring help to people who suffered in the war. We do not shy away from Chantry help. And if anyone asks, we claim to maintain a close friendship.’

‘But she’s still an elf!’ the dignitary finally throws his core worry in the open. Everyone present sigh - Kerei, Josephine, Dorian and a scribe, hidden in a corner and furiously scribbling away the proceedings.

‘And you’re still human.’ Kerei says softly. ‘And the Maker’s light shines on all that want to feel it in their hearts. And that is the message I will send to the world. After all, the Chantry would be willing to accept donations from all races, yes…?’

From then on, it’s a sprint of excuses, apologies and hasty compliments. Five minutes later the dignitary is out the door and Kerei slumps in Josephine’s chair, massaging her temples.

‘I will go insane here.’ She says.

‘You did well.’ Josephine pats her shoulder. ‘Tea?’


	17. Dragon

‘Dragon!’ Iron Bull yells, his eyes alight with glee and adrenaline. He practically jumps to Kerei and shakes her by the shoulders. ‘Tell me we are fighting it, boss! Tell me!’

‘Gods, Bull, if you break my spine, you’ll get zit, not a dragon!’ Kerei laughs, nearly smothered. ‘Stop shaking me!’

‘But you’ll consider it, right? A dragon, boss! That would boost your standing, like, to the sky!’

‘Yes, Bull, I know.’ She pats his arm. To do that, she needs to stretch a little. ‘And I will think about it. But now, we’re tired, there are way too many wolves out here, and we’re here only to scout. Scout we did, so now we turn tail, get back to camp and think about what happens next _after_ I had at least six hours of sleep. Sound good?’

Bull grumbles.

‘Yes, boss.’ He says. He’s still giddy with excitement, and he casts longing glances at the silhouette of the dragon, drawing in the fog rising from the released lake. But he follows when Kerei calls for him. Solas closes their little group, making sure they’re not followed. He’s not exactly thrilled with the prospect of fighting a dragon. But Bull is already nagging Kerei, and the Inquisitor laughs. Solas enjoys seeing her laugh. It’s not rare, but doesn’t happen nearly as often as he would like.

‘Those two are just adorable.’ Dorian joins Solas at the tail.

‘He’s excited.’ Solas shrugs. ‘And knowing the Inquisitor, she’ll indulge him.’

‘Getting us all killed in the process.’ Dorian mumbles.

‘Come on, master Pavus.’ Solas finds himself smiling. ‘Don’t you believe the Herald of Andraste can kill a dragon?’

‘Oh I bet she can kill that dragon.’ Dorian shrugs. ‘Or tame it and ride it to the sky, shooting her fire runes at unsuspecting bandits. But why do I have to be there to see it?’

They reach the Inquisition camp in the Three Trout Farm. Kerei immediately orders them to get some food and go to sleep, and disappears. Solas suspects she just needs some time alone and lets her be. He has to admit, he’s hungry and tired, and if the Inquisitor went off in her own business, well, she’s entitled to.

He falls asleep as soon as his head rests. He’s woken up by intense, whispered argument just outside his tent.

The Inquisitor. And Dorian.

‘This is insane, love!’ the Tevinter hisses. ‘We cannot take a dragon with just the four of us!’

‘Well, we cannot exactly wait around for Chargers to arrive, can we?’

‘You can ignore the blasted beast for now! Send Bull back later, with his damned Chargers! If he wants to get himself killed, fine, but I will not watch you die such a stupid death!’

‘Dorian.’ Kerei’s voice suggests she’s irritated. ‘I want to kill that dragon.’

‘You are insane!’

‘I’m not.’ The shrug is audible in her voice. ‘I was attacked by an archdemon, once. I was so scared I nearly peed myself. I need to master that fear. I want to kill that dragon.’

Dorian falls silent. Solas forces his breath to remain even and steady. Kerei’s voice can be read as indifferent, but there is a current in her tone he doesn’t like. A tiny string of steel, not yet sharpened, but deadly nevertheless.

‘Ugh, fine.’ Dorian gives up. ‘But promise me you’ll get us some troops.’

‘Yes, Dorian. I will organize some troops for back up.’

‘For the record, I was against.’

‘You can gloat later, love.’

Dorian grumbles and leaves. His footsteps silence in the night. Solas lies still and listens. Kerei heaves a sigh. There’s rustling, as if she rummages through some sort of pack or a crate of supplies. And then, Solas hears something that could be a smothered cough or a sneeze… or a sob.

He throws the blanket away and leaves the tent. Kerei sits on one of the crates, face hidden in her palms. She doesn’t move when Solas comes closer. It’s only when he touches her shoulder she practically jumps up, nearly hitting him in the jaw with her forehead.

‘Shit, Solas.’ She hisses. ‘You scared the pants off of me.’

‘My apologies.’ He tries to smile. He finds it hard. There are tears on her cheeks, glistening in the dim light of the camp’s torches. She wipes her face, avoiding his eyes. She’s still in her armor, but her staff is nowhere to be seen. ‘Are you…’

‘I’m fine.’ She snaps before he manages to finish the question. She combs her hair with her fingers and forces a smile to her lips. It looks genuine, and Solas is slightly taken aback by her ability to stomp down emotions. ‘Just a little tired. Did we wake you?’

‘No. Is there anything I can do for you?’

‘Get some rest.’ She pats his shoulder. ‘You’ll need it. I’m going to go back to sleep as well. I’m tired.’

For just a split second, it seems like she wants to say something else. But she just smiles at him, pats his shoulder again and leaves towards her tent. He hesitates.

‘You can always talk to me if you need.’ He says, not raising his voice. For a moment, he’s sure she didn’t hear him. But then, she raises her hand in thanks and disappears inside her tent. He returns to his bedroll, but sleep doesn’t come easy for the rest of the night.


	18. Injury

‘It’s going to be fine.’ Dorian says. His fingers dig into her shoulder. She doesn’t care. Her entire mind is focused on keeping the flow of magic steady. It’s a spell she doesn’t know very well, as she has no experience whatsoever in healing magic. But even if she needs to run dry for it to work, she will. She can feel a tremble in her whole body, as if she was very cold, but her hands are steady.

‘Boss.’ Bull, limping and covered in dragon’s blood from head to toe, practically falls down next to her. ‘The troops ran off for back up. It’s a good thing we are not that far from camp.’

‘He will not make it to the camp.’ Kerei says. For anyone who doesn’t know the Inquisitor, the tone of her voice may seem indifferent. But Dorian squeezes her shoulder even harder. He feels something rising in his throat and tries not to look at the wound. Kerei’s focus is absolute. All she can see is Solas’s face, pale and peppered with his blood; all she can do is keep forcing his heart to beat and his lungs to work while also not letting the blood spill onto the ground. It’s a strange sensation, as if feeling his body as if it were her own.

‘Try some Ice Magic?’ Dorian suggests gently.

‘I’m not skillful enough.’

‘Fuck, where is Viv when you need her.’ Bull grumbles. 

A bloody bubble bursts on Solas’s lips.

Kerei’s hands remain steady. But Dorian can see how her lips turn paler with every second. Her face is covered in mud and blood. She barely blinks. Her magic sings all around them, intense and focused, but even Bull can probably tell she’s not very good at this. Dorian, being a mage, can tell she distributes her energy recklessly. If this keeps up, they will have two half-dead elves to deal with.

Later, Dorian will tell everyone he called it.

The back-up troops come running probably seconds before Kerei collapses from exhaustion. Someone was clever enough to drag a healer mage with them. The mage, tall human with grim face, starts throwing curses as soon as he sees them. Dorian quite happily lets the mage order them around. The soldiers fashion a makeshift stretcher from cloaks and swords. Solas is transported to camp as gently and securely as possible while Bull carries Kerei in his arms. Dorian can see how she never lets her eyes off Solas’s form.

They make it to the camp, somehow. Dorian is practically forced to restrain Kerei when the healer mage orders to take Solas away. With some help from Bull - swearing and hissing in pain from time to time - they manage to make Kerei sit down and force some water into her.

‘We have to go back to Skyhold.’ Bull says at some point.

‘He’ll die if we set out now.’ Kerei says immediately. She keeps looking at the healer’s tent, as if she expects someone to come out with news any second.

‘We can leave him here…’ Dorian suggests before he manages to think this through. Kerei’s eyes snap to him, their green suddenly venomous.

‘I will  _not_  leave him here to die, Dorian.’ She says. There’s poison in her words.

‘He’s in good hands, love.’ 

‘He’s hurt because of me.’

Dorian doesn’t like the sound of Kerei’s voice.

He knows her well enough now, he thinks. Well enough to realize she’s way more damaged than she lets on. She works herself to death so that she doesn’t need to think of all the things she could have done differently. She swallows her emotions down even if they choke her. She’s still kind, and gentle, and brave, and essentially  _good_ , but underneath all that she’s also scared, unsure, and doubtful. Panicked. And this panic looks at Dorian right now, through Kerei’s dry, green eyes. Panic of the purest kind.

He scoops her into his arms. Mostly so that he doesn’t have to look at her face. She’s shaking, and she’s stiff in his embrace. Usually, she leans into him, soft and giggly. Not right now. Now, it feels like hugging a marble statue. He casts a glance at Bull, who watches them with a grim face.

‘Now we wait.’ The Qunari says, his deep voice comforting in that odd way of someone big and strong.

‘Now we pray.’ Kerei whispers into Dorian’s shoulder. She pulls out of his embrace slowly and, avoiding his and Bull’s eyes, leaves towards the trees of the grove. When Dorian moves to follow her, Bull’s heavy hand falls onto his shoulder.

‘Let her have this.’ The Qunari sighs. ‘I don’t think she’d appreciate company now.’

Dorian nods. 

And so, they wait.

Leliana’s raven flies in three days later. Dorian intercepts it before Kerei manages to. The spymaster is already informed of the development and wishes to ask if there is anything they can do to help. Is there anyone who should be sent over there, any supplies they require? When asked, Kerei only shrugs. She spends most of her waking hours at Solas’s side, silent and nearly unmoving. So it falls to Dorian to find out what the camp needs and send the list back to Leliana.

Sometimes, he is woken by a soft chant coming from the tent they put Solas in. It’s a prayer, spoken monotonously, in a gentle voice, over and over and over again, without pause, without break. Dorian knows Kerei is an andrastian - which is strange, given her upbringing - but she was never a very  _firm_  believer. Then again, people turn to deities in times of need, so why not elves? He falls back asleep with the chant filling his ears. It would be sweet - if it wasn’t painful.

The day Solas wakes up is gloom and rainy. But suddenly, there’s relief and smile in Kerei’s eyes, and Dorian feels a little lighter. She kneels at Solas’s side, her hand ever so gently resting on his wrist, and they talk in hushed words. Well, mostly she talks, and Solas answers shortly, drawing labored breaths. There’s a faint smile on his face, hazy and barely there. A similar one shines on Kerei’s lips, only much more defined. Their conversation doesn’t last long - Kerei leaves the tent maybe ten minutes later. But she’s calmer, Dorian notices.

‘He’ll make it.’ She says upon seeing him, hunched over a book. ‘It’s a miracle, but he’ll make it.’ She sighs and wipes her face with both her hands. ‘I’m gonna have to thank Arthius.’

‘Who?’

‘The healer who kept Solas alive.’ Kerei smiles. It’s a tired smile, but it’s a smile nonetheless. She sits down next to Dorian and leans slightly against him. ‘Soon, we’ll be able to return to Skyhold. In a few days, Arthius told me.’

Dorian nods. He feels lighter.


	19. Champion

‘The Champion of Kirkwall.’ Kerei says. There’s light, dancing in her eyes; sparkles of laughter. She tries to keep her face neutral, but the smile spills out of control nonetheless. ‘Who’d knew.’

‘Now, Ginger, don’t be mad.’ Varric quickly interjects. ‘Just… don’t tell Cassandra.’

Kerei rises her eyebrows at him. A mocking smile curves her lips.

‘Let’s stick with Garret.’ Hawke says and extends his hand. Kerei takes it and gives it her best not to cringe at the strength of his grip.

‘Kerei. A pleasure to meet you. I just wish it’d happen under better circumstances.’

‘Well.’ Hawke shrugs. ‘I don’t get to meet new people without some sort of crisis.’

‘Tell me about it.’ Kerei mutters. ‘So. What is the deal? Plan? Idea? Do we have any? I assume Varric didn’t drag you all the way here just for the laughs.’

‘We may have… a friend.’ Hawke says slowly, eyeing Varric. The dwarf grins. ‘Who may be able to help.’

‘There’s a lot of “may” in here.’ Kerei says, trying not to let her voice go too cold. Hawke notices and offers her a brilliant grin.

‘It _may_ be fun.’ He says.

‘I’m going to reconsider this alliance, Varric.’ Kerei says, making her voice as inquisitorial as she only can. Varric smiles at her innocently. ‘If your friend here is going to act this way.’

‘You’re gonna _love me_.’ Hawke laughs and pats Kerei generously on the back.

‘Not unless you’ll break my spine.’ She laughs as well, not quite able to keep up the façade. ‘Join me for a drink? I think we have much to discuss.’

‘Will I meet Cullen?’ Hawke asks suspiciously as they walk down the stairs towards the Herald’s Rest. Kerei shrugs.

‘Highly unlikely.’ She says. ‘He doesn’t come to the tavern too often.’

‘Good, good…’

Kerei decides against asking what in the nineteen hells did Hawke _do_ to her Commander. They take a small table in the back of the tavern, and it quickly turns into the very front of the establishment. Everyone wants something from Kerei or has something to offer to her. She can feel Hawke’s eyes following her every gesture and smile. They barely get a few sentences in between each new visitor to their table. Varric comments under his breath and Hawke laughs quietly into his beer.

‘What have you been up to recently, Garret?’ Kerei asks when the commotion dies down a little.

‘This and that.’ Hawke waves his hand dismissively. ‘You know. Travelling. Getting into trouble. Avoiding some people I owe money to. A friend looks after the Kirkwall mansion, so if I ever get bored with my life as it is I do have a place to come back to. Which is surprisingly nice.’

‘How did you manage to slip away from Fenris, though?’ Varric asks. Hawke looks guilty for about half a second before laughing and hiding behind his beer.

‘Who is Fenris?’ Kerei asks in a soft voice. She recognizes that look. She quite often sees it in a mirror. Garret shoots her a glance. Then, he relaxes just a tiny little bit.

‘A close friend.’ He mutters into his mug.

‘A _very_ close friend.’ Varric adds. There’s good-natured mocking in the dwarf’s tone. Kerei notices a line between Varric’s brows, though. He’s worried, the Inquisitor realizes, and he stomps down that worry. ‘Don’t tell me you sneaked out.’

‘Fine, I won’t.’ Garret says and turns to order another beer. Kerei and Varric exchange glances.

‘Please make sure I will not be as stubborn.’ The Inquisitor asks. Varric pretends to laugh.


	20. Fade

Kerei’s form is still against the greenish rocks. She appears to have found something and now studies it, carefully and thoroughly. Solas knows this line of her shoulders all too well. She slouches like this over books or her rune work. Whenever she’s presented with a problem, her spine curves, shoulders draw inwards, chin drops. Now, she looks at the weird stones, arranged in neat rows. Solas comes closer.

It’s a cemetery.

His heart grows heavy. He stands behind Kerei and looks at the tombstones. _Dorian_ , reads one _, Temptation._

‘These are our fears.’ Kerei says quietly. ‘Vivienne: irrelevance. Bull: madness. Sera: nothingness. That says a lot about her, don’t you think?’

Solas reads the tombstones. _Cole: Despair. Cassandra: Helplessness. Blackwall: Himself._ Interesting. _Varric: Becoming his parents. Solas: Dying alone._ For a second, he cannot breathe. Forcefully, he pushes away the fear, creeping up his throat. There’s no stone with Kerei’s name on it, he thinks at first. And then, he realizes it’s not right - there _is_ a stone with her name on it, she did say “ours” after all. Only she stands so that he cannot read the inscription.

Cassandra yells for them and Kerei turns abruptly. Solas follows her - it’s too dangerous in here to remain on one’s own, but he manages to catch the writing on the stone bearing Kerei’s name. It’s a phrase, and it’s the phrase that sums her up pretty well.

_Succumbing to panic._

Hawke looks at them suspiciously but Kerei waves him off. They continue onwards. The fear demon keeps trying them, needling with words aimed to hurt. They try to pay it no mind. But Solas notices how Cassandra’s back is a little too straight and how Varric’s grip on his crossbow is a little too tight. Kerei tears through waves after waves of fearlings with her Fire a touch too hot. And Solas knows - if they don’t find the exit soon, they will simply go mad in here.

‘Spiders.’ Kerei says at some point, anger burning bright in her voice. A fearling blinks out of existence at her feet. ‘I fucking HATE spiders.’

‘I know, right.’ Hawke adds grimly. Solas dares to squeeze Kerei’s elbow. He sees her hands shake. Her Marked hand is most nervous, always flexing - into a fist, out, fingers wide, almost to the point of pain, fist again, a flick of the wrist, and then fist again… He wants to grab that hand, maybe kiss it, make it still for at least a minute. He doesn’t dare.

They continue onwards.


	21. Thanks

‘Thanks.’ Hawke says. There’s still blood on his face, splashed across in a chaotic pattern of red dots. Kerei can’t look at him. She chooses to fix her eyes on the horizon instead. It’s distant enough, foggy enough, unclear enough. Her head is pounding and she has trouble keeping herself straight. But she tries. There are eyes on her. She has to keep up a face.

‘You’re welcome.’ She says in her best inquisitorial voice. It’s as steady as it comes, assuring, warm and gentle. Shows heart and conviction. She’s had that voice practiced well since... well. Since her world turned upside down for the first time. He doesn’t buy it. His heavy hand falls on her shoulder and squeezes.

‘I mean it, Lavellan.’ Garret’s voice drops. ‘ _Thanks_.’

Now she turns and looks at him. His eyes are bloodshot and dark. The blood shines in the moonlight on his armor, making him look positively scary. He’s the Champion of Kirkwall, Kerei remembers. A man who had it all and lost it. He knows, she realizes. He understands. Behind that happy go lucky grin is a world of hurt.

‘Oh, Garret.’ Her voice breaks and her head falls. A sob shakes her body but she swallows it down, nearly chokes on it but gets it under control - there are troops, everywhere. And while a show of emotion is not entirely unwelcome, total breakdown is totally unacceptable.

‘You did _good_ , Lavellan.’ His heavy hand on her shoulder squeezes and squeezes hard. Painful. It’s a nice pain to feel, though. ‘You did fucking _good_. Nobody could do better. You chose. And you chose again five minutes later. And in an hour, you will choose again. And tomorrow. And the next day, and the day after that, and it will go on till you die. And some choices you will just have to... live with.’

‘I just wanna go to sleep.’ Kerei says. She sounds like a tired five year old and she kind of hates it but is too exhausted to actually care. ‘I just wanna lie down, wrap myself in a blanket and sleep for, like, a thousand years.’

Hawke gives out a short snort and pats her back so hard she nearly topples over.

‘I can give you about six hours, tops.’ He says in a mockingly stern voice. He almost sounds like Cassandra.

‘I’ll take it.’ Kerei gives out a long sigh. ‘And then we go back to Skyhold. Yes?’

‘Sure, ma’am. But first things first.’

It’s a long night in the shade of Adamant fortress. There are still things to be done, so many things, so many decisions. Kerei feels pulled in all directions at once and she fears she will snap any second. Apparently no decision is to be made without her presence.

The wardens who are still alive are also mostly in deep shock. Inquisition’s troops are bloodied and exhausted. The whole battle, and everything that went down in the Fade, has left a mark on everyone near. Kerei can feel eyes on her as she returns to camp from her five minutes escape with Garret. There are fires, people are trying to cook comfort food and forget at least for a moment.

‘Garret?’ Kerei turns to him just before he says his goodnights and runs off to wherever he sleeps tonight.

‘Yea?’

‘Say hi to Fenris for me.’

‘Sure thing, doll.’ Garret Hawke winks at her. ‘Sure thing.’

She watches him as he goes – tall, big man in intimidating armor; the staff on his back sways gently in rhythm with his step. She wonders when – and if - she will see him again.


	22. First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I'm nervous about this one. Generally not great with writing intimate scenes. Did good? Not good? Sexy times ahead. Sortof?

‘So what does it mean, Solas?’ she asks, smile in her eyes. His breath catches in his throat for a second.

‘It means I have not forgotten the kiss.’ He says. There’s something swirling in his stomach. It’s sweet, and it’s frightening. A fluttering; a nervousness that creeps up his throat and makes him choke on his breath. She’s so beautiful in the soft lights of the sunset. She shouldn’t be this gorgeous.

‘Good.’

Step by step, she comes closer. He watches her. Light dances in her eyes, bringing out the barely visible freckles, adorning her nose and cheeks. The _vallaslin_ is dark against her pale complexion. Her eyes are vibrant and green. Soft curls of red hair frame her face. She puts her hands behind her back as she steps into his comfort zone, cautiously but with certainty of purpose.

Her face is wide open and earnest, lips parted just a little bit; there’s offering in her gaze, a sacrifice, a tribute to a god she doesn’t quite believe in anymore. He shakes his head. No, this is not right, she shouldn’t be this willing; he shouldn’t want to see her like this. He takes a step back, almost certain she’ll let him go now. The nervousness explodes in his throat. Why did he even ask her to see him? Why did he even…

Her hand is gentle but sure on his elbow. Her voice is smooth, quiet and pleading.

‘Don’t go.’

‘It would be kinder in a long run.’ He manages to say around the tightness in his throat. ‘But losing you would…’

He turns and kisses her; wraps her in his arms, presses her body close, and _kisses_ her. She’s surprised for a split second, but her reflex is as exquisite as always. Her hands grip his shoulders as she pulls him in, closer, closer, not close enough. He _drinks_ her in; she smells like wind and snow and grass and burning pine logs.

‘ _Ar lath, ma vhenan_.’ The words just flow out of him as she pulls back to catch her breath.

‘Then stay.’ She whispers back. ‘The door is locked; nobody will look for us until morning.’

He looks her in the eye. He notices she didn’t exactly _answer_. He chooses to let it slide, for now. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips are swollen, and her eyes are _so, so_ bright. A tiny smile plays around her lips.

‘Don’t leave me.’ She adds, and now there’s a layer of fear in her voice. He remembers - _don’t give in to the panic_ \- and something catches in his throat. He can’t leave her like this. A shadow lingers in her bright eyes. There’s a tension in her, tension he never noticed before.

‘I won’t.’

Relief washes over her features. Her shoulders slump and her head falls forward, bumping against his chest. He hugs her and kisses her hair. There’s a lump in his throat. He should leave. He shouldn’t have said… what he said. But it’s true to a dangerous level and he _wants this_.

So he kisses her hair, her temples, her cheeks, gently cupping her face in his hands. He kisses her brows and her _vallaslin,_ kisses her ear and her neck. She touches his wrists, oh ever so gently. Her breath slows and deepens. He can finally comb her fiery hair with his fingers and she purrs under this caress. Her eyes snap open and there’s a glint in there, a sparkle of mischief. He lets her push him backwards, into the soft atmosphere of her room.

‘Not out here.’ She murmurs and kisses him, sloppy and quick. ‘How much you want to bet someone can see us?

‘I don’t take bets that are obvious, _vhenan_.’ He smiles. He forgets the world for a moment, pushes every single unpleasant thought away from his mind. For now, there’s only her and him, and her room, warm and cozy. Her bed, soft, but not as +soft as one might suspect. Her hands and her lips, her breath on his skin.

He half expects her to be shy and unsure, but she’s the exact opposite of shy and unsure. She quickly works her way through his tunic and tosses his amulet somewhere towards her nightstand. Her hands travel his shoulders and chest surely, certain of their purpose. She pushes him to his back and straddles his hips, a mischievous smirk playing around her lips. She stretches slowly, invitingly, and his hands jump to the invitation, coaxing a wide grin on her face. He tries to sit up and kiss her, but she puts a hand on his collarbone and makes him stay down.

‘I got you here.’ She whispers. ‘You’re not going anywhere until dawn at least.’

‘As you wish.’

He watches as she unbuttons her shirt, slowly and seductively, shooting him sly glances from under her lashes. She slides the blue overshirt off her shoulders. She has absolutely nothing underneath. Her skin is smooth and creamy, dotted here and there with freckles. Solas knows he stares at her in awe, but he’s way beyond caring. He cups her breasts, small and round, and she rewards him with a breathy sigh. She leans in for a kiss, and this time it’s slow and strong.

The way light dances in her eyes…

She raises, escaping his hands, and kneels back on the floor between his knees. He sits up, slightly alerted.

‘Kerei… you don’t have to…’

‘Shut up.’ She says. Her fingers are swift on the fastenings of his pants. ‘I want to.’

So he lets her. At this point, there’s probably no stopping her; she’s a tempest, a force of nature. Her lips are soft and she clearly _knows_ what she’s doing. His head falls back as she takes him in her mouth. Her tongue is working magic he once knew, but has since long forgotten. And she clearly takes pleasure in this, judging from the sounds that come from her throat.

‘Kerei…’ he manages. ‘Hold on.’

He raises her head to look at him. Her hand takes the place of her lips; movements slow, pressure gentle but sure. He forcefully gathers his thoughts under control and swallows thickly.

‘If you keep this up, the night will end much too soon, with way too much embarrassment.’ He says, trying to smile. ‘Come here.’

She gets up. He slides from the bed and kneels at her feet, hiding his face in her bare stomach. He leaves kisses on her hipbones, under her navel, while as quickly as possible working through the fastening of her leggings. Her breaths become ragged, a short cry-like noise escapes her throat. Solas smiles against her skin, sliding the damned fabric of her pants down, revealing smooth lines of her thighs and calves.

‘I need to sit down.’ She says. _Even here she’s in control_ , Solas thinks. He’s on his knees and she’s in control. She steps out of the remainder of her clothes and sits on the edge of the bed. It takes every single ounce of self-control he still possesses not to devour her right then and there. Instead, he chooses gentle touch and even gentler kiss. The sigh she heaves is more reward than he could ever hope for.

She falls back on the bed as he kisses, licks and touches, trying to make his movements feather-like and gentle. He wants this to last. And he wants her to be happy, to feel safe with him; at least for now, in this stolen moment of the night.

He can feel tension building in her body slowly, steadily; her back arches, breath catches in her throat and finally, she comes with a short cry, clutching the covers. He kisses her again, just above the navel, and rests his head on her stomach for a second.

‘Maker, Solas.’ She breathes. But she gathers herself quickly, pulls him up and traps his lips in another searing kiss. Her hands are everywhere, it seems, and suddenly he’s on his back again, and she’s straddling his hips, hovering just-just above him. She looks him in the eye and smiles. It’s a surprisingly predatory smile.

‘Tell me you want this.’ She says. ‘Tell me you will not run away any time soon.’

‘I will not run.’ He says. He can _feel_ her, brushing against him, and the gentleness of it nearly drives him insane. ‘I want you…’

She doesn’t let him finish; suddenly, her warmth is all around him and he _groans._ She smiles, cupping his head, kisses him and moves so-so slowly. His thoughts scatter, for a long, long while there’s nothing, but her hands, her lips, her breaths, her warmth, just _her_. He can feel a long scar, crossing her back. She sits up, sliding her hands on his chest, never breaking eye-contact. She’s so beautiful in the dim lights of the room. She moves in a torturously slow pace, his every try to quicken up is stopped. She’s way stronger than he anticipated.

Her head lolls to the side and finally, finally she chooses to speed up a little, then more, then a little more again. He buries his fingers in her hips - _there will be bruising in the morning_ \- and now it doesn’t take him too long to choke out her name, to shut his eyes so tight it hurts and to explode. She whimpers slightly, but there’s so much joy in that whimper. Without thinking, he gathers her close, presses her body against him, and breathes in her scent.

They lie like this for a long moment, catching their breath. Solas stares into darkness of Kerei’s ceiling, his mind for once empty of all unpleasant thoughts and worries. Kerei shifts slightly, just so she lies at his side, not _on him_ , but her legs are entwined with his. She caresses his collarbone with the tips of her fingers.

He wants to ask. He’s surprised, and he wants to ask.

‘This was… perfect.’ She says before he finds the words. She rests her chin against his collarbone and smiles. He brushes a strand of damp hair from her forehead and returns that smile.

‘You are perfect.’ He says softly. He kisses her forehead. She purrs.

‘The night is still young.’ She says, brushing her nose against his skin. He groans and she laughs. ‘I thought you could tell me something else about your journeys. Fade or otherwise.’

‘Your wish is my command, _vhenan_.’

They talk nearly until dawn, barely taking time to cover with a fur blanket. She listens and asks questions. He’s more than happy to answer them. Then, he asks some questions of his own, about her past in her clan. She doesn’t say much, shrugging most of it with “I was a solitary child”. They fall asleep in each other’s arms not long before the break of dawn. When Solas is woken up by knocking, Kerei is still asleep at his side, completely at peace. He heaves a sigh and gets up to answer the door, catching a spare blanket on the way. He suspects it’s either Josephine or Leliana, he’d rather not show himself in all, well, glory.

But it’s neither Josephine nor Leliana at the door. It’s Cullen. Solas involuntarily tenses. He feels completely stupid, standing in Kerei’s door covered with a hastily grabbed sheet.

‘I was hoping to see the Inquisitor.’ The Commander says slowly. His voice is strained.

‘She’s asleep.’ Solas says, trying to keep his voice calm and polite. There’s an ugly pride rising in his chest - in those two words is a message _she chose me and she didn’t choose you_. He tries really hard to keep it under, to keep it from showing.

‘I see.’ The Commander’s face falls. Just a little, but Solas still feels a pang of guilt. Cullen apparently caught the unsaid words that are banging around Solas’s head. This _should_ be the other way around. _He_ should be knocking on Kerei’s door, and the _Commander_ should be one answering it nearly naked. But Kerei made her choice…

And everyone will have to live with it.

‘I will tell her you’re looking for her, Commander.’ Solas offers gently.

‘Yeah.’ Cullen says. ‘Do that.’

He turns on his heel and leaves. Solas closes the door carefully. He returns to Kerei and sits on the bed. She’s still fast asleep, hugging a pillow. She has a tiny smile on her face. He caresses her bare shoulder and she presses into his hand, trusting and open. Her eyes flutter open.

‘Good morning.’ He says.

‘Mmmmorning.’ She yawns and stretches. ‘What time is it?’

‘Early.’ He moves so she can sit up. ‘But I think you are already needed.’

‘Of course I am.’ She sighs, wiping her eyes with the base of her palm. ‘Who was it, Cass or Josie?’

‘The Commander.’

She stills on the bed and looks at him. There’s a trace of guilt in her eyes.

‘Shit.’ She states. ‘Oh well. Better get going then.’

He watches her pick up their clothes. She moves with no shame, even though she’s completely naked. He manages to catch his tunic as she throws it at him.

‘I’ll go see Cullen now.’ She says, picking up her shirt. ‘Then I think I’ll see Cabot for something to eat. Join me at Herald’s Rest?’

‘Yes.’ He says. ‘It will be my pleasure.’

‘Oh, that will come later.’ She shots him a smile and disappears behind the door that leads to her bathing area. He can’t help the smile, that forces its way to his face, and he’s pretty sure it’s a very idiotic smile.


	23. Commander

‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’ Cullen asks as Kerei gathers her notes and gets up to leave. She looks at her Commander questioningly. From the tone of his voice she deduces he doesn’t mean her trip to Emprise du Lion. He doesn’t look at her, focused on straightening his papers instead. His fingers are… restless.

‘I think I have a pretty good idea, Cullen.’ The Inquisitor says softly. ‘Our scouts brought back a nicely detailed report on the situation in Emprise…’

‘That’s not what I mean.’ He looks up. In the flickering lights of the candles he seems pale. The way shadows lie on his face makes him look a bit ominous, and the fur framing his shoulders doesn’t help with the impression. Kerei smiles gently.

‘Then what do you mean, Commander?’ she asks in a soft voice.

‘Should you affiliate yourself with an… an _apostate_?’ Cullen nearly spits out the last word. Kerei swallows down the sadness that rises in her chest. She knows, of course; she’s observant enough to know. But she made her choice, and now she has to deal with the consequences.

‘You’re the _Inquisitor_.’ He continues, not looking at her. His voice gains a touch of tremble. ‘You are the third power, the force filling in the power vacuum left after the effective destruction of the Chantry. And he’s an _apostate hedge mage_. What can he offer you?’ when he looks up, his eyes are bitter. The hurt she can see in his face takes her slightly aback.

‘Love isn’t about bargains.’ Kerei answers, struggling to keep her voice even and gentle. ‘Love isn’t about _fair_ bargains most of all. And I love him, Cullen. No matter who he is and who he is not. Do you understand?’

Cullen’s hand trembles as he rubs his forehead. Kerei waits. She feels a squeeze in her throat. She really, honestly wishes she didn’t have to explain this to Cullen. He’s a good man, despite all the mistakes he’s done - and maybe because of them. He does excellent job as the Inquisition’s Commander, and his advice in the War Room is always measured and sound. Kerei just wishes she didn’t have to tell him all this. She hates to see him wounded.

‘I just…’ he finally stutters out.

‘I know.’ She doesn’t really let him finish, scared of what he might say. And some things are better left unsaid. ‘And I am sorry, Cullen. It’s just… how things are.’

He nods. Once. His eyes are glued to the papers.

‘Will you be allright?’ Kerei asks after a moment of silence. He laughs, and it’s a short, bitter sound.

‘Goodnight, Inquisitor.’ He says, and it feels like a slap. Kerei takes it - she feels she deserves that. She just smiles a little. ‘Good luck on your mission.’

‘Thank you. Goodnight, Commander.’


	24. Routine

Kerei’s preparing for Emprise du Lion, but she stills finds time every evening to come down to Solas’s rotunda, sit on his couch and talk. Sometimes, they discuss her training. Sometimes, they discuss the latest discoveries of Leliana’s scouts in regards of Veil research. Sometimes, she browses through his books or sketches.

Sometimes, she leaves for her bed and he leaves for his. But sometimes, they walk hand in hand, still talking and talking, they climb the steps to the tower and hide in her room. Servants usually leave dinner for Kerei in her room - mostly fruit and bread, some wine, sometimes cheese or vegetable spreads. Solas observes how Kerei eats - constantly on the move, in between reading, talking to him, changing out of her clothes for the night, she grabs an apple or a pear and goes to warm up water for the bath. She’s a little firecracker and he loves watching her go about her routine. They fit around each other easily, and it’s nice.

Slowly, he finds more and more of _him_ in what is essentially _her_ area. Books. Pieces of clothing. Notes and blank parchments. Quills. His backpack seems to have taken a permanent place right next to her drawer, nestled between the wall and a huge potted fern. Her staff and his staff share a rack on the wall. Sometimes, it feels like an invasion.

But mostly, it feels like being home.

Sometimes Kerei is busy with her duties late into the night and Solas finds himself alone in her spacious bed. It’s soft – but not too soft, usually covered in a mess of coverings of various colors and textures. There is even a bear’s pelt here. Kerei likes to wrap herself in a ton of blankets – it gets cold all the way up here even though there is a fireplace in the room - and she has at least five pillows on her bed at any given time. Her things are at a… disarray around the room, and Solas knows Kerei forbade servants to clean her room. All they do in her quarters is water that ridiculous fern and bring dinner for the evening.

She does everything else herself. Even the water for the bath, using some ice tricks taught to her by Vivienne. One evening a week she fully commits to keeping her living area clean and clear. Solas witnessed it a couple of times already and was a bit surprised to see her do it all with her own two hands and no magic.

He asked her once. She just laughed.

‘Magic is all well and nice and good.’ She said as she scrubbed her floor; elbows deep in hot water and foam, on her knees, dressed in old, slightly torn clothes. ‘But it’s so good to do things manually from time to time.’ She really puts in the effort and it seems to give her… well, not joy. But a sense of accomplishing something, maybe. ‘Magic seems the easy way, you know?’

He doesn’t, but he nodded then and listened to her words.

‘I was brought up in respect for hard work.’ She added after a moment. ‘It helps. It’s like… well… did you ever try to paint with magic?’

He stared at her, dumbfounded; she smiled a brilliant smile at him and just got back to her cleaning. And soon, he helps her regularly, on his knees right next to her, and finds simple satisfaction in making the stone floor clean and bookshelves dusted and that bloody fern watered.


	25. Between

‘So I noticed you and Kerei spend more time together now.’ Dorian says. Solas manages to just raise his eyebrows. They do spend more time together, dividing it equally between conversations, arguments, planning, strategies and all that, well, more innocent things - and _making use_ of various flat surfaces. Kerei’s desk was hastily repaired at least twice.

‘And? What of it?’

‘Nothing.’ Dorian eyes him cautiously. ‘She seems… calmer. Happier. I sure hope you won’t go and screw this up.’

Solas forces a tight-lipped smile. He knows Dorian and Kerei are close friends. She turns to the mage often, for idle chat as well as comfort and advice. She relies on the Tevinter probably as much as the Tevinter relies on her. Solas tries his best to not be jealous of this friendship. He often sees them together, slouching over books or walking rounds on the battlements.

‘I don’t want to cause her harm.’ Solas says.

‘Good.’ Dorian crosses arms at the chest. ‘Because if you do, I will personally _castrate_ you.’

‘Noted.’

‘Hey boys.’ Kerei, as usual, shows up unannounced, out of the blue, in probably the least convenient moment. ‘We’re leaving for Emprise du Lion soon. Are you ready, Dorian?’

‘Sure, lovely.’ The mage smiles widely and scoops Kerei to his side, pressing a quick kiss on her temple. ‘Let me just double check my fur coats. It’s better to take two than one, I guess. I hear the place is _freezing_.’

The mage leaves, shooting a look at Solas over Kerei’s head. Solas keeps his face carefully indifferent, only smiling when Kerei shuffles closer and wraps her arms around him.

‘Will you miss me when I’m gone?’ she asks. There are sparkles in her eyes; a smile plays around the corners of her lips. He caresses the outline of her face. He loves touching her.

‘I will.’ He whispers and kisses her.

‘Oi!’ comes from above. When Solas looks up, irritated, Dorian is leaning against the railing, with a smug grin on his face. ‘I can see you! Get a room!’

‘Make me!’ Kerei sing-songs, looking up and sticking out her tongue. Solas has to swallow back laughter. This is adorable. But when Dorian threatens to chuck a book at them, Kerei laughingly surrenders.

‘I’ll see you later, yes?’ she says. Her eyes are soft. Solas nods, fighting for words and finding none. There’s so much love in her face. She turns to leave and he just stares after her. His throat is squeezed and for a second, he has trouble breathing. Nothing extraordinary happened - she just smiled at him… and his heart nearly burst with all the love. Fate have mercy, this shouldn’t have been this way.

He sits down before his knees give up.

‘You allright there, Solas?’ Dorian calls from upstairs.

‘Yes.’ Solas answers as soon as he’s sure of his voice. ‘I am fine.’

He occupies himself for a moment with his notes and books. He can feel Dorian’s eyes on him from time to time. When the mage comes down for the night, Solas stops him.

‘Will you take care of her out there?’ He asks. Dorian cracks a half-smile.

‘Of course.’

Solas watches Dorian leave. His heart seems… heavy. He wonders why it is so, exactly.


	26. Feverish

Kerei returns from Emprise du Lion with a fever and a running nose. She’s understandably grumpy, though Cassandra, Dorian and Iron Bull look overall pleased with their efforts in the field. Solas didn’t manage to see her before the usual debriefing with her councilors, and when the meeting was over, it was already really, really late. That’s why he takes it upon himself to deliver breakfast to Kerei’s room first thing in the morning.

There is no answer to his knocking, so he decides to go for it and carefully opens the door. Hinges don’t give a sound, which is good, if a little unusual. He climbs the stairs to Kerei’s room and peeks between the railings. The room is dark, curtains are closed, and the fireplace is merely a memory of embers. He can barely make out Kerei’s form on the bed. And then, there’s a loud sneeze and an exhausted groan.

‘Good morning, Inquisitor.’ He says in a soft voice, climbing up the last two steps. She peeks from under the covers.

‘Solas.’ She says. Her voice is different, choked and raspy. ‘Please tell me you have food. And tea. _Please_ tell me you have tea.’

‘One better.’ He smiles, setting the tray on her nightstand. ‘I have breakfast, and tea, and a light elfroot potion to ease your fever.’

‘I have a sore throat as well.’ She informs him matter-of-factly and sneezes again. He can’t help a short laugh, but stifles it forcefully almost immediately. Kerei manages to shot him an accusatory glance, though, as she wipes her nose on a piece of cloth.

‘You’ll feel better soon.’

‘Yeah, I sure hope so.’ She sits up and reaches for the plate. She examines the contents and smiles warmly at Solas. ‘You remembered.’

‘Of course I remembered.’ He says without thinking. How could he forget? She eats only fruit for breakfast, the sweeter the better, so he asked the cooks to prepare a fruit salad of strawberries, apples, peaches, plums and watermelon, brought to Skyhold by Josephine’s efforts. The cook, worried for her Inquisitor health, added a generous dose of honey and almond flakes to all that richness.

The people of Skyhold love their Inquisitor. The fact she doesn’t lock herself up in her tower, instead choosing to work among them down there, in the dirt of the courtyard, surely doesn’t sabotage that feeling.

Solas lights the candles as Kerei eats.

‘They will expect me to show up down there.’ She says halfway through the meal.

‘Well, I don’t think that is wise.’ He says, cleaning out the fireplace. ‘We don’t want you catching pneumonia. The Inquisition will manage to get by if you take a week off, I believe.’

‘Keep me company, then?’

This catches him off guard. Even though it’s been a while, he still sometimes forgets… But he smiles before she catches on.

‘Of course.’

He makes sure she drinks her tea while it’s still warm. He brings a book for her to read, but she’s not feeling well enough. Instead, she asks if he could draw something, anything, and she would watch him.

‘If that doesn’t bother you.’ She adds quickly. ‘I mean, I don’t mind if someone looks over my shoulder, but I’d understand if that irks you…’

‘No, it’s… I don’t mind as well.’ He smiles. He leaves for his sketchbook and returns as Kerei talks to Josephine and Leliana. He swallows back irritation; seriously, would a week without dragging Kerei through every decision _kill them_? They manage _somehow_ when she’s out in the field, for fuck’s sake.

He waits patiently until the advisors leave and Kerei falls back on the pillows, visibly paler and tired. She coughs. He doesn’t like the sound of that cough. It sounds like something bubbles in her chest.

‘I hate being sick.’ She grumbles.

‘Try to sleep.’ Solas puts a hand on her forehead. It’s way too warm. ‘I’ll fetch a healer. I fear it’s not just a fever anymore.’

‘No…’ she says drowsily. ‘I’ll be fine. Just… I need some rest.’ She sneezes. ‘Some warm tea, a potion or two, a couple of days in bed… no need to drag anyone all the way up here.’

She’s stubborn. Usually, it’s endearing. Now, it’s infuriating. Solas gives up for now, or at least pretends to do so. He makes sure she’s warm and covered in blankets and lies down next to her, on the covers. Kerei rests her temple against his shoulder as he opens the sketchbook. She doesn’t say much, and soon, her breath slows down. He puts away papers and pencils and slowly, carefully, slides away from the embrace.

Dorian waits at the bottom of the stairs.

‘So?’ he asks. ‘Is she very sick?’

Solas sighs.

‘Well, not yet.’ He stresses the “yet”. ‘But I fear if she allows herself to shrug it off and, you know, _wait it out_ , it can turn serious. She forbade me to fetch a healer, for one, so…’

‘Someone explain to me why is she so stubborn.’ The Tevinter mage mumbles.

‘That implies I plan to obey her.’ Solas allows himself a tight-lipped smile. Dorian grins.

‘Ah. Then I’ll go up there, keep her company.’

‘Very well.’ Solas watches as Dorian climbs the steps. ‘Thank you.’

‘She’s my friend, you know.’ Dorian shots him a look Solas cannot decipher. ‘Friends take care of friends, in sickness and in health. And someone has to be there to help the healer stuff her with some potions.’


	27. Realization

****It takes three days for Kerei to feel good enough to see other people than Solas - who would seriously maim _anyone_ trying to keep him away - Dorian - who has some really interesting ways to tell people to fuck off - and Josephine, because, well, Josephine. After another week Kerei’s mostly back to health, but Dorian forces her to dress a touch warmer than would be necessary and forbids her to tend to her herbal garden. He also gives the councilors a lengthy lecture about exploitation. Solas nearly applauds him.

And then, when Kerei’s mostly back up and running, Solas realizes everyone _knows_. Not suspects or giggles on the idea, but _knows_.

This wasn’t Dorian’s fault. The mage may have a gossip streak, but he cares for Kerei. He would never just run off and tell people. Solas realizes it’s mostly his own fault. He didn’t try to water down his worry for Kerei during her illness. He didn’t try to hide him staying some nights in her room, relying on dumb luck and drowsiness of Skyhold’s inhabitants in the morning. He opened the door nearly naked when Cullen came looking for Kerei, for fuck’s sake, the very first morning he woke up at her side. The Commander probably didn’t tell anyone - that was too personal for him as well - but that surely didn’t help keep their…

Relationship…

A secret.

Thoughts start clouding his mind in these last days of Kerei’s recovery. Did he _want_ to keep it a secret? Did _she_ want to keep it a secret? Were his actions subconscious? Was he - without realizing it - trying to tie himself firmly into this world, with these people? Was it just an accident, another mistake on his part, a mistake that will pain him after this is all over? Did he want people to know - to judge? Wouldn’t it be better if there was another man in his place?

And then he would look at Kerei. Her eyes as she smiled at him, every little sign of her body language when he was nearby. It was her choice, and while he theoretically could deny her that choice, would it be better? Would she forget and turn to someone for consolation, or would she just… never really move on? It was a complicated matter and there was no right answer. Everything will end in hurt, one way or another.

Yet whenever his guilt surfaces, Kerei smiles at him and his resolve breaks into splinters. _Not yet_ , he tells himself, kissing her temple, _just a little more time. We have a few days. Maybe weeks, or even months. For now, I can make her happy._

Calmer, Dorian said. And Solas believed him so desperately.


	28. Paint

Kerei loves watching Solas as he paints. He loves watching him as he reads and makes notes as well, but painting is her favorite hobby of his – if that makes any sense. She loves curling up on his sofa, with her feet tucked under a blanket, and just shamelessly stare at him as he paints. She has never had any talent for drawing, and the images he’s able to produce on the walls of Skyhold are simply amazing. Simple, traditional Elvhen frescoes. Elegant. And they tell her story, which is amazing in and of itself.

He paints in total silence. While reading or scribbling notes, he hums, comments under his breath, thinks out loud. While painting, Solas remains completely silent and focused on his paints and brushes. Kerei adores the way his hands look as he covers the walls with neatly designed images. She loves the way he stands, she loves the way he kneels to paint the lower parts of the wall.

Sometimes, as he paints, she talks at him. He laughingly calls it “thinking with his brain”. She doesn’t expect him to participate in the conversation, she just throws ideas and strategies at him. Solas probably doesn’t even listen. And it helps her make decisions. And she knows he likes the drone of her voice – he told her that once or twice.

Sometimes, she just… sits there. Doesn’t even pretend to read the book she’s brought. Instead she shamelessly watches him and, when caught, admits to it with a cheeky grin. He smiles then, says something jokingly. Once, he brushed her nose with a painting brush, leaving a bright blue smudge.

Than one ended with paint being literally everywhere on both of them. Kerei made them both sit in a hot bath for a couple of hours. They just… talked then. He gently washed her hair, and she relished in the touch of his strong, elegant fingers on her scalp. She felt safe in his arms. She made him tell a story of every scar she found. He had quite a few.

His eyes were bright and full of light then.

They dimmed fast, and Kerei almost asked why. But he hugged her, hiding his face in her shoulder, and she never got the chance.

So, she settles to watching him paint the walls with her stories.


	29. Dressing up

Vivienne has to admit – the Inquisitor is somehow baffling at times.

At first, the Grand Enchanter didn’t expect much of this small, scrawny elf girl with brilliant smile and bright eyes. She was clearly dragged out of some forest, thrust into a role she was ill-prepared for and stumbled her way around with much reliance on Josephine Montilyet. However, upon closer inspection, the Inquisitor shows a natural talent for people. She always listens with attention and, what was more astonishing, with understanding. How someone raised in the wilderness of the Free Marches got a knack for the Great Game was beyond Vivienne.

But Kerei has promise. What’s more, she has an _interest_.

And she plays her looks well. Vivienne had a chance or two to witness the Inquisitor in battle and was impressed – her skill with Fire Magic is quite spectacular. But that small, scrawny elf with a very pretty face recognizes the merit of appearance as much as literal strength. She knows how to wear her looks to gain attention, how to play it further, how to move in a dress. She refuses to wear heels for Halamshiral and justifies it quite cleverly.

‘I’d rather be graceful and barefoot than wear heels and be clumsy.’ She says to Vivienne during one of the fashion meetings. The ball draws nearer with every day, and preparations are in full swing. ‘I will probably get a lot of attention as it is, I may as well play along. They expect a savage, so a savage they will get.’ Here, the Inquisitor flashes Vivienne a dazzling smile. ‘And won’t they be surprised, Madame de Fer?’

‘Oh my darling.’ Vivienne cannot help a smile crawling its way onto her face. ‘You will be the talk of the ball.’

‘Well, I hope so.’ Kerei sighs and twirls in front of the mirror. ‘What do you think?’

The dress is scandalous to say the least. It’s mostly dark green, with brown applications made of velvet, embroidered with golden thread. The bodice is tight-fitting, hugging Kerei’s curves a bit too ostentatiously, showcases her figure instead of reforming it. The neckline is low and bares Kerei’s shoulders. The skirt is split on both sides, all the way to Inquisitor’s hips, so that it flows and shows her bare legs as she walks. The embroidery is delicate but rich, ornaments resemble Kerei’s facial tattoos - leaves, floral motifs. The dress, all in all, is beautiful. And utterly scandalous.

‘Well?’ Kerei urges Vivienne.

‘Unorthodox.’ Madame de Fer settles for a more timid adjective. ‘Very unorthodox.’

‘Good, good.’ Kerei leans towards the mirror. ‘Very good. Any ideas for hair?’

It only seems frivolous. Matters of appearance are of great importance – sometimes of _grave_ importance, if Vivienne is to judge. Most of the women in Inquisition seem to forget the power of femininity. When wielded correctly, it can do wonders. Kerei is clever enough to recognize the strength she can have over men by simply being pretty.

And she’s mean and cynical enough to utilize it towards her own goals.


	30. Bliss

Dorian notices the second Kerei, laughing at Varric, enters the library. She’s _vibrant_ , all laugh and giggles and happiness. Her hands are mostly still for once, and she laughs unashamedly and teases Varric to no end. The dwarf seems to love it and they bicker back and forth like good old friends. Dorian can’t suppress a smile. He loves seeing her like that. She has more reasons to be worried than one person should ever have to deal with.

Varric goes off to see Leliana and Kerei plops down onto her usual chair with a huff. In one fluid motion she rests her legs on the armrest and stretches with a wide yawn.

‘Fun night, I see?’ Dorian says before he thinks. Kerei looks at him questioningly. He wiggles his eyebrows and pokes himself in the neck.

He has a rare occasion to see the Inquisitor blush so vividly her face matches her hair. She makes a move as if she wanted to cover the mark on her neck - right at the base, where it peeks from under the loose shirt. Then she sticks out her tongue and curls in the chair like a cat.

‘Vivienne is going to have a heart attack.’

‘No she’s not.’ Kerei reaches for a book and nearly manages to grab it before it falls to the ground. With a sigh, the Inquisitor gets up to get the tome and dusts it off with a few pats. ‘She’s done worse things than leave a mark out in the open.’ She looks at him. There’s smile in her eyes; a soft, gentle smile Dorian would like to see more on her face. ‘And I am not ashamed, Dorian. Why would I be?’

There’s so many reasons ( _she’s the Inquisitor, he’s just an apostate elf with nothing to his name, she’s the needlepoint the world balances now, and he’s no one, literally no one, she commands thousands and his only power rests in his staff)_ but Dorian smiles and nods.

‘You’re right.’ He says slowly. ‘Why should you be ashamed of who you love.’

Her eyes are green and knowing.

‘How you’ve been, Dorian?’ she asks as she sits down. It may sound like she didn’t pay any attention to him recently. But Dorian reads that as an invitation to an honest conversation. About anything he wants to tell her. She’d understand, or so Dorian hopes.

‘Well, you know.’ He says. ‘This and that.’

‘You really shouldn’t call him “that”.’

‘Why do you ask, if you know?’

‘Acknowledgement is important, love.’ Kerei flashes a grin from behind her book. ‘And I want to know if you would like to go to Halamshiral with us. Varric already said yes, but I know that’s not really your cup of tea, so…’

‘I think I will survive Orlais.’ Dorian shrugs. ‘Lonely nights are not a problem if Varric is coming.'

Kerei’s face remains blank. Dorian keeps up for about three seconds before laughing.

‘That came out wrong.’ He reaches and pats her knee. ‘We’re good, love. We’re both adults. A few nights are completely unproblematic.’

‘Not exactly what I was asking, but thank you.’

‘I’m good.’ Dorian says after a moment of warm silence. ‘It’s nice to… not be judged on every single thing that I do. And the people I do it with.’

‘Oh, I think Vivienne judges us all. And hard.’

Dorian laughs out shortly.

‘True, but at least she’s kind of civil about it. And nothing in this blessed world is perfect.’

Kerei giggles and settles down a little more comfortably. Dorian watches her read for a moment. There’s no fruit on hand, so she nibbles her thumb nail. It’s a habit Vivienne and Josephine try to get rid of – and unsuccessfully. He wonders how long she has before someone comes looking for her in some urgent matters.

It’s ten minutes.


	31. Work

Solas stirs from sleep, awakened by a noise or a movement not fully noticed, but nevertheless disturbing. Out of reflex, he reaches towards where Kerei should be and finds the sheets cold and empty. Alarm shots up his head and he jumps awake.

A soft light dances on the walls of Kerei’s work alcove. She’s slouched over the desk, scribbling away. She rests her forehead on her Marked fist. Solas heaves a sigh. It’s not the first time. He gets up and takes the blanket with him. Kerei doesn’t look up as Solas approaches her to at least cover her shoulders.

‘ _Vhenan_.’ Solas gently puts the blanket over her shoulders. ‘It’s late. Come to bed.’

‘No.’ she doesn’t even look up from her notes. ‘I have to finish these. We are pressed for time and I have to get these done.’

‘You will work yourself to death,  _ma lath_.’

‘If that’s what’s required of me, then yes.’ Kerei snaps. Her voice is sharp. Solas feels something like a punch to the gut, sharp and swift and painful. Then, he’s helpless. He watches motionlessly as she returns to work. Her handwriting is tiny and neat, but Solas notices a couple of spelling errors. Kerei loves to read, but she still struggles with writing correctly.

‘How can I help you?’ he asks softly, brushing away a strand of hair that’s fallen in her eye.

‘You can’t.’

‘Kerei, please… I can’t let you tire yourself so much.’

‘Do you think I can watch you walk into battle time and time and time again?’ she asks calmly, never looking up. ‘And yet I do. So leave me to my work. Swallow your pride, and let me be.’

‘This is unfair.’ Solas swallows back anger that rises in his throat. He knows she’s tired and her mind is fogged, but her words still sting. The jab, almost surely unconsciously phrased, is terrifyingly well-aimed.

‘It is, as you have it easier now.’ She casts him a glance. ‘I’m not in any immediate danger. Go back to bed. When I’m done, I will join you.’

‘I wish you would trust me more.’ Solas says. The anger melts into irritation. ‘You don’t have to do all of this personally.’

‘Trust me, there were more on Josie’s desk this morning.’ Kerei scoffs. ‘And those  _are_  the ones I have to deal with personally. I have a lot to learn, Solas. If we are to succeed in Halamshiral, I have a lot of studying to do. You will not learn the politics of Orlais court in my stead.’

She looks down on the papers.

‘I am but a Dalish elf who was lucky enough to be taught to read so that she could be a Keeper someday.’ She says. ‘Josie and Viv didn’t have to hammer  _that_ as well into my head. Please, Solas. I’m tired. And the longer you try to talk me into resting, the longer I have before I go to bed.’

Irritation is swirled into sadness. He looks at her, so pale and tired in the warm candlelight. Her eyes are hard, despite the exhaustion written in strong lines all over her face. He brushes her hair again, forcing a sad smile onto his lips. She’s stubborn – and this time it’s his turn to yield.

‘I love you.’ He says and presses a kiss to her temple. 

‘I know. I love you too.’

It’s not a smile he likes, but he appreciates the effort she put into summoning it. He kisses her temple again and returns to bed. He really, honestly tries to wait for her to come to bed, but he falls asleep at some point. When he wakes to the birds chirping on the windowsill, Kerei is nowhere to be seen.

The candles on her desk are nearly completely burnt out.


	32. Savages

Solas desperately searches for words and finds none.

She’s stunning.

Of course, the gown Kerei agreed on has little to do with acceptable Orlesian fashion. It practically screams  _Dalish!_ : in color (green silk, soft brown velvet, golden threads, white lace), in shape (close-fitting bodice, but with a long skirt, flowing,  _showing her bare legs_ ), in ornaments (Mythal’s tree, leaves, a suggestion of flowers). Kerei doesn’t have gloves, she doesn’t have shoes. Her hair is messily gathered back, kept in place only with a single goldish thread that shines on her forehead. She smiles at him and twirls around.

‘Do you like it?’ Kerei asks, innocently like a child.

‘Yes.’ Solas manages. ‘You look… stunning.’

‘I can see that.’ She flashes him a smile better fitting a lioness. ‘I only hope I’ll be able to cash in the attention this outfit will surely grant me.’

‘Kerei.’ Leliana shows up at the doorstep. ‘We are ready.’

‘Splendid!’ Kerei exclaims and shots one last look at the mirror. She seems pleased with the result as she blows a kiss towards the mirror and grins at Leliana.

‘I see you decided to go barefoot.’ Leliana observes calmly. ‘Why?’

So there  _were_  shoes to go with that outfit. Solas was wondering about that and now his curiosity is sated. Kerei smiles widely and slides her hand under Solas’s arm. She smells of sandalwood and pinecones, and Solas remembers the variety of perfume she had to choose from - of course she chose something rich but fresh, soft and sweet, with forest undertones.

‘Well, I’d kill myself in those heels, so I decided not to wear them.’ The Inquisitor shrugs. ‘I’d rather be barefoot and graceful, not wear heels and be clumsy.’

Leliana considers this for a moment and finally nods.

‘I just hope Josie doesn’t get a heart attack when she sees you barefoot.’ The spy says. There’s a smile playing around her lips.

‘I hope someone at court  _does_.’ Kerei giggles. ‘Allright, let’s go. I know it’s in good taste to be a little late, but I want to have this over with as soon as possible.’

They arrive at the Winter Palace just in time. The Duke greets them cordially, but Solas can sense disgust behind his words. This disgust doesn’t stop the man from ogling Kerei, though. She notices immediately and plays the Duke like a fiddle; all charm and smiles, cute giggles whenever she feels it’s needed, but her words bear a hint of steel. Solas can hear outraged whispers all around. Kerei must hear them too, but she ignores it.

Vivienne’s smile is tight. Josephine’s face is drawn with worry. Dorian seems unmoved by all the commotion they cause; the mage shoots smiles right and left. The main focus of everyone is Kerei, though. This is obvious. Everyone else is just… background. Solas feels quite weird, serving as an arm candy.

She’s nervous at first. She clutches his arm whenever she can. But soon - well, after she’s introduced to the Empress - the Inquisitor relaxes. Whenever she talks to someone, she’s all smiles and charm and undeniable strength. She reads people and soon everyone wants a dance with the Inquisitor to get to know her better. Solas steps back, into the shadows, but he keeps an eye out for trouble… and for her. She dances gracefully, light on her feet. She received a crash course of ballroom dancing which gave her solid basics, and even when she steps on someone’s toe, she’s so charming in apologizing it doesn’t earn her any scorn.

This is amazing, Solas realizes, for someone basically born and raised in the wilds. All those conversations (lessons) with Vivienne certainly pay off now.

Everyone’s attention is focused on Kerei…

So nobody pays any attention to any of the commotion caused by Dorian and Varric off stage. Solas barely notices her receiving reports and issuing orders. She talks with people, and as the night progresses, the smiles on everyone’s faces turn from condescending to frightened. She  _listens_  and  _knows things_ they’d rather left unknown. Kerei has always had a knack for getting people to tell her what she wants to know - Solas knows this probably better than anyone - and now this weird little talent of hers makes her not a mascot of the ball, but a threat. 

Too bad the courtiers realize this so late.

Vivienne must be proud.

When Florienne makes her move, Kerei has already stuck her fingers in every significant pie in the palace. The duchess has no chance. She’s stripped bare of her power and influence, disassembled piece by piece and left at the Empress’s mercy.

When the commotion dies down, Kerei simply vanishes.

Solas finds her much later, on a small balcony, one of many. He will never tell anyone how many of those he went to while searching for her. She’s resting against the railing, staring up at the night sky. He can’t help a smile and a thought -  _had she worn those murderous high heels Josephine tried to force her into, she_ _’_ _d have them off by now_.

‘So we won.’ He says, approaching her. Her shoulders slump.

‘Or so it seems.’ She says. Her voice bears a clear note of exhaustion. ‘It’s been a long night… I don’t even have the energy to be glad.’

She releases a deep sigh and wipes her face with both hands. Solas doesn’t resist the urge to gently caress her arm. She smiles up at him.

‘Did you enjoy the ball, at least?’ Kerei asks.

‘Surprisingly, yes.’ Solas admits. ‘I missed court intrigue.’

‘When did you get the chance to be at court?’ she laughs. Something catches in his throat as his thoughts jump-start forward. Shit! He must be tired as well, that was a very idiotic slip of the tongue.

‘Well, never directly, of course.’ He says dismissively. ‘But I did witness a fair share of it in my Fade journeys.’

Her eyes are bright and wide in her pale face. The  _vallaslin_  is a stark contrast against her pale skin; she refused to wear any concealing makeup, agreeing only to accentuate her eyes.

‘Ah.’ She says. ‘Fade journeys. Of course.’

He only hopes she doesn’t notice how fast his heart beats in his chest when he holds her. He just witnessed her playing the Game of the highest order, he should know better than to just blab whatever comes to mind. She’s smart and she’s proven that countless times over. But he trusts her, and he feels safe around her, and sometimes he wonders, whether he should just be honest…

He always decides against.

‘Would you care for a dance, my lady?’ he asks, moving slightly away and bowing to her. She smiles and accepts his hand.

‘Of course, kind sir.’ Her voice is gentle and sweet. Quite like the voice she used to talk with the court, but much more honest. He takes her in his arms and they sway gently to the music coming from the main hall. For a moment, all is right with the world.


	33. Proposition

There is a stack of letters on Josie’s desk. Kerei scoffs at them.  _Orlesians_. People who invent problems to make life more interesting. People who consider sneezing at a ball an offense worse than murder. She’s quite fascinated with the Game and Orlesian culture, but Maker, there  _are_  limits. And they send ridiculous letters, colorful and scented. Kerei was taught to respect paper, and blaspheming stationery with  _perfume_  is way beyond her understanding. 

And most of it it’s in Orlesian. Kerei knows about two words in Orlesian, and neither are suitable for court.

‘Well, Josie.’ The Inquisitor says. She takes the seat next to Josephine and looks over the papers, neatly arranged on the desk. There’s quite a lot to do today, even though they sorted through some of the paperwork on the road from the Winter Palace. ‘Let’s get cracking. What do we have here?’

‘Mmm, let me see…’ Josephine opens the first letter and reads quickly. ‘Nothing much. You looked beautiful, I hope you had a pleasant night, please extend me the courtesy of accepting an invitation…’

‘Ugh.’ Kerei grunts. ‘Invitations pile. Next?’

‘Offer of support. Not military, but for our ambassadors.’

‘Ooh, neat. Potential allies pile. Next?’

‘It’s, uh…’ Josephine reads the letter quickly, then blinks and reads it again, much slower this time. ‘Er…’

‘Josie…’ Kerei rises her eyes from above the ledger she’s been reading. ‘What is it? Did some baron le Douche declare a war on us?’

‘No. It’s a marriage proposal.’

Kerei chokes.

‘It’s a  _what_.’ She deadpans. Her mind has trouble deciding whether it should go into panic or maniacal laughter.

‘A marriage proposal.’ Josephine’s voice is a little strained. As if the ambassador is not sure whether she should laugh or worry. ‘For you. Quite serious from what I see. It’s a touch rude, to be honest, a single letter is too little to consider it a proper courtship, but…’

‘For the love of…’ Kerei hides her face in the hands. ‘Is it at least someone I talked to?’

‘Oh Maker, I think so, but you’ve talked to so many people…’ Josie draws her brows in thought. ‘Marquis du Valon… du Valon…’

‘Nevermind, I remember.’ Kerei rises her head from her arms. ‘Skinny dude. Slimy. Oh so charming and witty, but I could sense him drooling even behind the mask. Lots of gold, ridiculous frills all over, sleeves way too puffy for his own good and healthy circulation. He boasted his richness and connections to me.’

‘Well, I don’t know about the riches, but connections…’ Josephine sighs. ‘Du Valons are one of those old families that are considered a bit silly, but due to a long history they do have some influence. He must have spotted the opportunity to improve his family’s standing.’

‘By marrying probably the most controversial figure on political scene?’ Kerei raises her brow.

‘Sweetie, you are the reason Celene remains on her throne, and you’ve earned significant influence all over Thedas.’ Josephine allows herself a smile. ‘You shape the world. You pardoned the Wardens and pulled them into the Inquisition. You allied with the mages and vastly improved their standing by making them work for the people. And people talk. They look up to you. Some say you should be the next Divine.’

‘Seriously?’ Kerei asks, exasperated. This is getting ridiculous. And out of hand.

‘It’s not going to happen, of course, but I’ve heard it said. Anyway, what do you want me to write to the marquis?’

Kerei lowers her eyes back to the ledger. It’s filled with Josephine’s and Leliana’s writing, both styles neat and clear, Josie’s a little more elaborate. The finances of the Inquisition are improving slowly, but steadily. Kerei likes the numbers she’s seeing, as little as she knows of accounting. This is something she worked for - the Inquisition to stand strong on its own legs, without reaching out for help to other organizations. She knew some will try to use that self-reliance for their own purposes… but she never expected a  _marriage proposal_  for something other than love or at least sympathy. Marriage and business were two separate things in her mind.

Her clan supported marrying for love and the Keeper didn’t object too much when someone wanted to leave and marry outside their little family. And when someone brought their chosen one to the clan it was even better. Kerei grew up believing she will meet a decent guy one day, from her clan or not, and get to marry him and have kids to pass the Dalish legacy to.

No matter how her life changed since then. No matter she fell in love with someone she never expected to be the kind of guy she’d fall for. No matter this love is unlike anything she has ever imagined. This letter is still an affront to that sweet, childish belief.

‘Tell him I’m… spoken for.’ Kerei says. ‘Tell him I’m flattered and honored, but I decided to sacrifice my life to my duty, and the holy work takes precedence over earthly pleasures. If he wants an alliance, he’s welcome to negotiate the terms with my dearest ambassador, lady Montilyet. Sounds good?’

Josephine’s eyes are… somehow sad.

‘As you say.’ She says. 


	34. Mirror

The witch rubs Kerei wrong from the very first second.

Ever since they met in Halamshiral Kerei doesn’t like Morrigan. It’s not something Morrigan said or did, it’s just… the air about her, the way Morrigan looks at Kerei. As if the Inquisitor was a little girl who knows nothing and needs everything to be explained to her. And while Kerei knows well she’s not omnipotent and doesn’t know everything, she still managed to do good up until now, for goodness sake.

‘I have something to show you.’ Morrigan says, looking down at Kerei – even though they are exactly of the same height. Kerei swallows a comment that fights its way out of her throat and follows Morrigan through Skyhold. And when they reach their destination, Kerei tries her best not to show any signs of emotion.

She’s heard stories.

Garrett Hawke told her one.

And this, this thing on her wall, standing there innocently as if it was just another mirror, is definitely an Eluvian. Kerei can taste its magic on her tongue, and it’s like ice and metal, like a breath of cold winter on her cheeks. It reminds her a little of that night in the snows, that night she killed Haven. A shiver runs down her spine.

‘This…’ Morrigan says. ‘Is an Eluvian.’

Kerei bites back an “I know, Morrigan”. She barely listens as Morrigan explains to her ( _as if she didn’t know!_ ) what is an Eluvian and what her theory is about the Arbor Wilds. Instead, Kerei stares at the frame of the mirror-door, trying her best to commit it to her memory. She knows this is big. She’s heard stories. And if she read Morrigan right, she will know if they are true.

Stepping through the barrier tingles in cold and electricity, leaves a _tackiness_ on Kerei’s skin. It’s not entirely unpleasant, but still, not very nice. The other side is cold, empty, grey and blue, there’s not a single smell in the air. The ground under Kerei’s bare feet feels a little wrong, as if the dirt didn’t quite obey the laws of physics. The fabric of reality feels… not right. Like an old blanket.

There are remains. Other doors. Artifacts, tiny and long forgotten.

Morrigan’s theory – enter the Eluvian to enter the Fade – makes sense. It’s quite logical and reasonable. But Kerei has a feeling, call it a woman’s intuition, a mage’s instinct, that it’s not exactly the full truth. She lingers a little behind Morrigan and looks around. This… place feels wrong and familiar. There’s a taste to it, a touch she kind of knows, kind of remembers, and Kerei know it will drive her crazy.

Unless she remembers, of course.


	35. Birthday

‘Oh.’ Kerei says, staring at Josephine’s calendar book. ‘It’s my birthday today.’

Dorian feels a sudden - and completely ridiculous - wave of panic rising in his throat. Kerei doesn’t pay any attention, still browsing through the calendar, oblivious of the atmosphere that suddenly rises in the room.

 _You knew?,_  Dorian mouths towards Solas. The elf shakes his head; his expression is quite filled with nervousness and something akin to shame.  _You?_ , Dorian turns to mouth to Josephine. The ambassador shrugs helplessly and mouths back  _I had no idea!_  Everyone looks to Leliana, but the spy is biting her lip and looking anywhere but at them.

‘Darling.’ Vivienne says. ‘Why didn’t you say anything? We would have prepared a party!’

‘Exactly.’ Kerei answers, not looking up from the calendar. Varric rolls his eyes. ‘There would be a party, a dress up, a reprise of Halamshiral. No, thank you. I should have bitten my tongue even now. But if anyone wants to join me for a drink in the Herald’s Rest…’ now she looks up and smiles sheepishly. ‘My treat.’

Vivienne looks outraged for full ten seconds before forcing a smile onto her face. The Bull snorts as Sera laughs and hollers. Cole asks -  _what is a birthday? Does it matter?_ \- and Varric and Blackwall simultaneously start explaining. Cullen fiddles with a quill, looking slightly embarrassed.

‘But…’ Josephine adds in hesitantly. ‘If the nobles find out…’

‘Don’t tell them.’ Kerei shrugs.

‘They will probably start asking when we can expect your celebration.’ Josephine sighs. ‘It’s been a year already since we arrived to Skyhold…’

‘Make something up. Make it a spring date.’ Kerei looks Solas in the eyes and smiles. ‘I love spring.’

Dorian observes a tiny, barely there smile that appears on Solas’s face. Something squeezes the mage in the heart. Those two are adorable. There’s truly  _something_ between them, something so wonderful and pure it hurts to watch sometimes. Whenever they are out on the field, running missions and doing all that “hands-on approach”, they sometimes sneak out at night and return much later. Dorian still doesn’t understand why they… pretend it’s not a thing.

Everyone knows it’s a  _thing_. It’s a thing that pains Cullen, it’s a thing that makes Josephine and Leliana giggle, it’s a thing that makes Cassandra blush and gives Varric inspiration for some of the steamier scenes. The Bull is supportive in that odd, harsh way of his that Dorian can sometimes appreciate. Cole loves hanging around Kerei and Solas, Sera has a ton of jokes to tell around the campfire, and even Blackwall is a  _fan_. The only one who, seemingly, can’t give two damns about the affairs of Kerei’s heart is Vivienne. Not surprising.

‘Anyway.’ Josephine clears her throat. ‘We have a visit from a scholar who would like to ask for safe passage to the Frostback Basin…’

‘I will see him in your office first thing in the morning…’

Dorian catches a glance from Solas and a delicate movement of the elf’s head. They sneak out to the main hall and then to the rotunda.

‘We messed up.’ Solas says as soon as he closes the door.

‘I know!’ Dorian feels like ripping hair out of his skull. Somehow Kerei knew when  _his_  birthday rolled around and she had a gift for him – she had Josephine bring in a book he’s been looking for, a beautiful, illustrated edition of  _Grand Grimoire_. What she got for Solas, Dorian has no idea. But she got her lover something, he knows for sure. Josephine was blushing a bit for a week following Solas’s birthday.

‘Anything we come up with now will be recognized as patched up on the fly.’ Solas’s voice is quite calm, but there is irritation in it as well. He sits down at his desk and absent-mindedly moves around some stray papers and notes.

‘Maybe we should do something for her?’ Dorian starts pacing around Solas’s desk. ‘Like… talk Josie out of throwing her a birthday party.’

‘Well, she would appreciate that one, but it’s still… a little bit  _meh,_  if you know what I mean.’

‘She doesn’t tell you much.’ Dorian says slowly, stopping in his tracks and looking at Solas. The elf’s face is blank, but his eyes are intent and fixed on Dorian. ‘She keeps her life stories to herself, unless coaxed. What do we know of her struggles? We know she’s wonderful, we know she’s brave to the point where it is plain ridiculous, we know she’s insanely skilled with Fire Magic… but what is her mother’s name?’

Solas remains silent.

‘When did she learn she has magic?’ Dorian keeps asking. More himself than Solas. ‘Who was her best friend when she was a kid? What she loved to do with her clan? That stuff. We know her for over a year now, and we had no idea when her birthday is. I’m supposed to be her best friend.’ He looks at Solas again. ‘You’re her lover. Why didn’t we know until now?’

‘She was a solitary child.’ Solas says quietly. Very, very quietly. ‘And it seems some habits die hard.’

‘Solas, this is her twenty seventh birthday.’

‘I know.’ Solas doesn’t look at Dorian. ‘I know. But what can we give her, really? What can we do for her? How can we repay her kindness, her affection and gentleness, her love? What can you do, Dorian? What will make her better, what will make her hands still for a moment, what will silence her thoughts and put them at ease?’

‘I may have an idea.’ Dorian says. Now Solas raises his eyes from his papers and looks at Dorian.

‘Go on.’


	36. Gift

‘Val Royeaux.’ Kerei says slowly. ‘Why?’

‘You’ll see.’ Solas smiles. ‘Pack a nice dress. Not Winter Palace nice, but nice. I’m sure Josie will find something for you. Three days on the road, three days in Val Royeaux, three days to come back. You can take whoever you want, it’s a trip for two.’

‘Oh?’ Kerei cocks an eyebrow at him. ‘And if I decide to take Bull?’

Solas laughs, hugs her and presses a kiss to her temple.

‘He would appreciate it, I’m sure.’ He says, brushing her hair away from her eyes.

‘I’ll consider it.’

‘Nine days to think of anything but your inquisitorial duties.’ Solas keeps caressing her ear and neck. ‘Six days for a slow, lazy travel, as many stops as you want, and three days a little bit planned and organized. Get a dress, get a bow, and get whatever you want, and forget you’re the Inquisitor.’

‘Sime time off.’ Kerei says slowly.

‘As a belated birthday present. Also, I hear a famous diva gives a concert in Val Royeaux, two nights only. You’ll make it there.’

‘Oh Maker, Solas, you didn’t…’

‘I did.’ He kisses her temple again. ‘It was Dorian’s idea, actually, and everyone here chipped in. We’re all very cross that you didn’t warn us beforehand, though.’

Kerei’s face falls a little and Solas feels a squeeze in his heart.

‘It’s not a…  _thing_.’ She says slowly. ‘Among the Dalish. Birthdays, I mean. Unless you’re coming of age, it doesn’t matter that much. I never thought it’s important, but I know humans like to celebrate it, so I got Dorian the book, and I got Viv the head piece, and I got Sera a new bow…’

He doesn’t stop himself and presses a kiss to her lips this time. She “oomfs” and enthusiastically throws her arms around his neck. She smells of burnt pine logs -  _she’s been practicing her magic again_  - and she’s so precious in that tiny little moment. Worrying for everyone  _but_ herself. Good thing she has an entire group of people to do that for her.

‘We would very much love to see you relax for a change.’ He says as they break apart, both slightly flushed and panting. ‘You’re working too hard. The Inquisition will manage for a week, I believe. So who will you take with you?’

‘You’re hoping it’s you.’ She nudges his chin with her nose as she wraps her arms around his waist. Her eyes are full of light, a little sparkle dances in her gaze. He kisses the tip of her nose, unable to stop a smile from spilling onto his lips.

‘I do.’ He whispers gently. ‘But it’s your birthday. Go with Sera if you want, as long as you’re happy.’

‘Ugh.’ She bumps his collarbone with her forehead. ‘Maker, you’ll be the end of me.’

Here’s the fly in the ointment. He kisses her hair, trying so hard not to tense up at her words, so hard not to let her know how that little statement got to him. Because she’s right. He loves her so much it literally hurts to breathe sometimes, and she’s right. He will be the end of her - and of them all.

She decides to take Josephine, and Solas is just a little bit disappointed. What matters, though, is that Kerei will get a week off with a female friend, and if that’s what she needs, she will have it.

They get a small military unit for protection and set off perfectly on schedule. Solas observes them leaving from the battlements. He tries to commit this moment to memory - the way light of the sunrise dances in her hair, the way she moves with the horse’s sway, the way she sits in the saddle, ladylike, with both legs on one side, and laughs with Josie. As they approach the other side of the bridge, Kerei turns around. She spots him - of course - and rises her hand. He smiles, even though she probably cannot see this, and rises his hand as well.


	37. Justice

Kerei is nervous, Solas can see that as he helps her change into her full Inquisitor’s attire. It reminds him a bit of the Divine’s robes as it’s similar in general shape – but what Kerei wears is dark green and black, lined with golden thread. Inquisition’s colors, generally. Kerei refuses to wear the hat that goes with the outfit, and Josephine must battle her for that every time. And every time, Kerei simply goes out without the hat, making Josephine grunt with frustration.

Usually Kerei is quite calm and collected when she must sit in Judgment. This is different. This is for one of her own. And she’s fidgeting. Josephine doesn’t even try and make her usual argument about the hat.

‘Kerei.’ The ambassador says gently. ‘It will be allright. Just do what you always do.’

Kerei looks at Josie and laughs shortly. It’s a rather sad sound.

‘And what is that?’

‘Be yourself.’ Josephine smiles and straightens out the material on Kerei’s shoulder. ‘And be compassionate. You know Blackwall, you know what kind of a man he is. Listen to him.’

‘Thank you.’ Kerei takes a deep breath and straightens her shoulders. ‘Well, let’s begin.’

Solas slips into the audience gathered around the throne. He has a few favorite spots from which he can see Kerei perfectly. She’s always sat straight, on the very edge of the throne, in a position taught to her by Vivienne. It must be uncomfortable, but Kerei shows no signs of discomfort. She has her left, Marked hand rested on the hilt of the Inquisition’s ceremonial sword; a sword she has yet to use for execution. When the time of day is right, and the sun shines right through the tall windows behind her back, she looks like Justice embodied.

Solas tried to paint her like this more than once, but never really succeeded.

Blackwall is presented to Kerei strictly following protocol. Two guards, chains, audience kept at a safely measured distance from the prisoner and the throne. Josephine takes her usual spot as Kerei’s right hand. Everyone is a little tense. The people of Skyhold know Blackwall, and news of his lies hit some of them rather hard. There are whispers.

‘Explain yourself.’ Kerei says. Her voice is gentle. The sun plays in her hair, casts shadows on her face, draws her silhouette sharp and strong; the light reflects off the polished sword and golden threads she wears. She listens to Blackwall without moving an inch.

Solas can’t help but wonder… and a scene plays out in his head almost perfectly.

_I lied to you, I pretended to be someone I_ _’_ _m not, at least not fully. I caused the crisis you are struggling against now. I am the Trickster, and I tricked you all to my own ends. Judge me, Inquisitor. I accept your judgement._

‘You have your freedom.’

There’s a gasp in the audience. Solas shakes off his thoughts and looks at Kerei. Her face is still, but there is something in her eyes. Like a sadness, like a resignation.

‘It cannot be as simple as that.’ Blackwall says, his voice disbelieving and unsure.

‘It isn’t.’ a smile passes through Kerei’s lips, so quick and small it’s barely there; just a twitch of the mouth, a line, drawn on her cheek for a fraction of second. ‘You’re free to atone as the man you are, not the traitor you thought you were, or the Warden you pretended to be.’

 _Traitor you thought you were_ , Solas repeats in his thoughts. His heart beats slowly, heavily in his chest, for this is a scene he’s well familiar with. The extent of Kerei’s kindness and forgiveness is vast. Is she naïve in granting Blackwall his freedom? Is she stupid and blind? Or is she smarter than it seems? Blackwall is unchained and kneels at Kerei’s feet, once again pledging his loyalty to her and the Inquisition. Kerei accepts, placing her hand on his shoulder.

Blackwall was forgiven.

 _Would I be as well_?, Solas wonders.


	38. Well

‘Enough!’ Kerei’s voice snaps like a whip, sharp and piercing. Everyone silences. The Inquisitor’s eyes are blazing green, her jaw is set and lips pressed into a thin line. Solas feels his heart clenching. She’s made a choice. That’s the face she always makes when she’s made a  _choice_.

‘I will do it.’ Kerei says.

‘And you will waste all the knowledge stored in there!’ Morrigan nearly cries. ‘What are you able to make of it? Bits! Pieces! All the rest will be lost forever!’

Kerei turns to her so abruptly she nearly knocks Varric off his feet.

‘Shut it.’ Kerei hisses. ‘You may have studied the knowledge, but you’re not one of  _us_. We  _lived it_. If there’s anyone  _entitled_  to this, it’s either me or Solas. Since Solas isn’t willing, I will do it! I’m not as stupid as you think me be! I am the First of Clan Lavellan, and I will do my fucking duty!’

Morrigan steps back, shocked. There’s a flicker of fear on her face. Kerei’s Marked hand twitches - fist, flex, flick of the wrist, fist again - and Kerei grabs her left wrist to steady her hand. The Inquisitor’s eyes are a blaze of furious green, anger draws on her face with thick lines. Her jaw is set tight as she stares Morrigan down and, to everyone’s surprise, the witch escapes Kerei’s gaze.

‘ _Vhenan_.’ Solas reaches out to touch her arm. ‘Please reconsider…’

She only looks at him and shakes her head. For a second, they stare at each other. The strength of her will nearly hammers him to the ground. It shouldn’t be a surprise - she’s been able to lead the Inquisition to what it is now… and yet, the sheer power of her stubbornness is enough to surprise Solas.

Then, she makes a step forward. She slips from his fingers and enters the pool. Solas wants to run after her, to drag her out of there and yell some sense into her… but really, what choice do they have? It’s either her… or that Morrigan witch, who boasts her knowledge of ancient Elvhen as if she knew everything. With heart clenched in anger and worry, Solas watches as Kerei drinks from the Well of Sorrows.

This shouldn’t happen.

This really, really shouldn’t happen.

She has no idea what she’s doing. He will not be able to save her from this choice.

But maybe she’s right. Maybe this is the right choice. He doesn’t have to like it, though, and he doesn’t, he doesn’t, and when all the chaos breaks out, his magic is desperate and angry. As they flee, he grabs Kerei and practically drags her through the Eluvian; she’s dizzy and confused, and when they appear in Skyhold, she collapses.

He’s angry, and he’s worried, and he feels - this is it, the final showdown will soon be upon them, and then it all will be over.

And she will hate him for sure.


End file.
